The Strangers in the Mountains
by Rin22
Summary: ‘Dear Dr. Brennan: Given your recent trauma in the field as well as in the personal confines of the Jeffersonian, it is the opinion of the Bureau that you cease field work until further notice.’ Booth! You authorized this!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: After an obscenely long hiatus from writing, I'm back into it, after some butt kicking from a friend because of her need for a better conclusion to season three. Spoilers for season three abound. So after a short disclaimer, away we go into the world of Bones!**

**Disclaimer: I own nnnnothin'**

* * *

_**The Strangers in the Mountains**_

"Booth!"

The distinctive shout of Dr. Temperance Brennan sounded through the halls of the FBI and reached Seely Booth even before she made it to the door of his office. He let out a sigh, knowing the tone of her voice could mean nothing but trouble. More than three years of working with that woman had taught him that despite her outward show of control and logic, she would give her emotions away in an instant by the mere sound of her voice.

The blinds on the door rattled as Brennan thrust the door open. Booth caught the curious glances of his fellow agents peering after her before she flung the door shut behind her. His jaw set in annoyance at the thought of the impending gossip this was going to cause. Brennan marched up to his desk and shoved a piece of paper in his face, one hand placed firmly on her hip. Although it was hard to avoid looking at the paper, seeing as how it was being held less than a foot from his nose, he managed to lift his gaze to meet hers and was not surprised to find her seething. Or at least as close to seething as Temperance Brennan got in public.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"Uh, it's… I'm not - "

She snatched the paper away from him and began to read it aloud.

" 'Dear Dr. Brennan: Given your recent trauma in the field as well as in the personal confines of the Jeffersonian, it is the opinion of the Bureau that you cease field work until further notice.' Booth!" she turned her eyes on him and resumed her stance of determination, the letter once again thrust in his face. At this point, he wasn't sure what he thought was more of a danger – receiving a gash in his face from the paper wielding anthropologist, or the daggers flying from those cerulean eyes. "You authorized this! You encouraged this."

"Actually, Sweets thought - "

"You consulted _Sweets_ on this?"

"Bones," he started, rising from his seat and walking around the side of his desk to face her properly. "You've been through a lot in the last month. Your dad, the shooting… Zach."

"I feel that I must point out that the 'trauma' from the shooting was partly your fault. You did fake your death, after all, and you made the choice to exclude me from the knowledge that you were actually alive."

"_Sweets_ made that choice, Bones," he said emphatically, feeling himself losing his patience already.

"Aha! So the man who is consulting you on this decision is the same one who directly disobeyed your wishes for your faked death!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she stepped closer to him.

"You know, that's really not the point here," Booth quickly sidestepped her argument, trying to keep his voice even. "The point is to make sure that you're dealing with everything in a healthy manner."

He could have slapped himself for the way the young psychologist's words were making their way out of his own mouth. He forced himself to buy it in order to make sure Brennan bought it. _Fat chance_, he thought.

"I'm fine, Booth," Brennan delivered her patented, but sincere, line. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him straight in the eye. "Really. This isn't necessary."

Booth regarded her for a moment before letting out a frustrated huff.

"Fine," he said, pointing a finger in her face. "But you get to explain it to Sweets during our next session. And I'm not agreeing with you, for the record."

He turned and headed back to his chair, intent on filling out some paperwork before lunch. Brennan stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

"Wha – that's it, no argument? No trying to get me to see things your way?" she asked, slightly put out. She would never admit it to anyone, but she often enjoyed it when he challenged her opinion. It provided her with the opportunity to form better arguments and reasons why she was right.

"Bones, sometimes, I've learned, it's best not to argue with you. Okay?" he said, not meeting her eyes, instead focusing on the stack of papers in front of him.

For a moment she watched him, his hand flying across the paper, filling in dates, making amendments, and providing his signature. As she studied him, she wondered why on earth he would suddenly choose this moment to relent and give her what she wanted. He never did that. A realization slowly hit her. Narrowing her eyes, she stepped forward and leaned in over his desk so that her face was only a few inches from his. It took only seconds before her proximity unnerved him and the movement of his hand slowed to a stop. Ever so reluctantly, he lifted his head to once again meet her eyes.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"You're going easy on me," she said, a hint of a smile appearing on her face, proud that she had figured him out so easily. Normally it was Booth who was able to read the hidden text in people's behavior, but for once she felt confident that she had mastered the ability. She was not always so sure about her partner's motives.

"What? No," Booth immediately denied the accusation, dropping his pen onto the desk and shoving himself away from her, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms defensively.

"You are! You feel sorry for me, so you're giving me what I want because you think it will help me cope with whatever issues you think I'm dealing with."

"Okay, first," Booth started tiredly, closing his eyes and swiping a hand over his face in annoyance. "I don't _think_ you're dealing with issues, I _know_ you're dealing with issues, whether you want to believe it or not. Second, I am _not_ giving you what you want."

That stopped her, the confidence that she had had only seconds before suddenly shaken.

"What do you mean?"

This time, he could not bring himself to look at her. His leg bounced nervously beneath his desk, and he was grateful that the telltale sign was not visible to her. He couldn't afford to appear weak on this issue.

"You're still being restricted from field work… until Sweets thinks you're in a better state to return…" he trailed off, not trusting his voice to remain confident. Not that he had mustered much confidence in what he had already said. Truthfully, he hated the idea, but knew it was the best choice in the end.

Hesitantly, he brought his eyes up to study her face. It nearly broke his heart. She might not have meant to show it, but the expression she wore was crestfallen. He watched, guiltily, as her eyes dropped away from his and the anger that he knew would surface overtook any hurt she was feeling. In a rare display of temper, she crumpled the paper she was still holding and hurled it at him, turning quickly on her heel and yanking the door open. She hesitated briefly, her hand on the doorknob, and for a moment Booth thought she would turn around and rip into him with a tirade of how unfair he was being. Instead, she let her hand drop slowly and walked away. Booth swallowed the lump that was growing in his throat. At that moment, given a choice, he would have preferred she yelled at him. This was somehow a million times worse.

* * *

"He did _what?_"

"Put in a request that I be removed from field work until the Bureau thinks it's alright for me to return."

Angela Montenegro stared at her best friend with a look of complete shock plastered on her face. She watched Brennan for a moment, watched her look of determination as she methodically arranged the skeleton of what would probably turn out to be a twelfth century crusader recovered from North Africa, seeing as how that is what Brennan predicted, and she was almost never wrong. Angela had wondered exactly what had transpired during Brennan's visit to the Bureau that would cause her to return to the Jeffersonian and launch herself into several hours of skeletal identification from the Middle Ages. Now that she knew, she was surprised it wasn't Booth lying on that slab of metal. Or Sweets, for that matter.

"_Sweetie_!" Angela exclaimed, not noticing the look of reproach from Brennan at the intensity of her voice. "How the _hell_ could he do that?"

"Very easily, actually," Brennan answered calmly, moving a clavicle into place. The sound of the bone hitting metal as she pieced the body together was oddly satisfying to her. "I've always been in the field at the Bureau's request, under their direct invitation and supervision. If they have reason to believe I'm not fit to perform the job they have entrusted to me, then they have the right to retract the request."

Angela's mouth actually dropped open at the statement. She walked over to Brennan and placed a hand on either side of her friend's face, physically forcing her to look at Angela.

"Ange, what are you doing?" Brennan asked, her brow furrowing as she was forced to literally drop what she was doing.

"Making sure you listen when I say this," Angela said firmly. "You, sweetie, are so totally fit to continue field work. Yes, you've been through a lot recently. Yes, you need some help that you will probably not ask for, but that's what court mandated therapy is for after all. Yes, you should take it easy. But, no, you do not get to be bossed around by the big bad Bureau."

She released Brennan's face, hoping that she had gotten through. Brennan stared at her for a minute before a smile tugged at her lips. A bittersweet smile, but a smile nonetheless. Angela returned the smile.

"Good. Now I'm going to let you play with the crusaders for a few more hours, but after you are done, we are going out tonight for some serious girl time," Angela said. Brennan looked about to argue against the idea, but Angela held up a hand and shushed her. "Eh! No arguments, you have no choice on this. Seven o'clock, we are so outa here."

"Fine," Brennan agreed, somewhat reluctantly, but with a smile.

Angela gave her friend one more encouraging smile before turning to leave the room. As she headed back to her office, she found herself sorely tempted to march over to the Bureau and give Booth a piece of her mind. She agreed that Brennan needed some time to recover from everything that had happened in the last few months, but pulling her from the work she loved was most certainly not the way to go about it. Brennan was already slipping into coping behavior that Angela knew was dangerous territory – locking herself away in a secluded room with boxes upon boxes of unidentified remains, rationalizing her way through being ripped away from the work she had done for the past three years. Angela was stunned that Booth would do something like that without even consulting Brennan. She was certain the two partners shared a bond and an understanding that went deeper than anyone else was capable of grasping. Perhaps this time, though, Booth had misjudged the needs his partner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the awesome reviews! You guys are great! Also, I like, NEVER update this fast, so don't get too comfortable, k?**

* * *

Cam Saroyan stirred sweetener into her coffee slowly and thoughtfully as she considered the situation Seely Booth had just explained to her. When she had accepted his offer to grab a cup of coffee after work, she hadn't been expecting much more than a chance to catch up and possibly discuss work. She had definitely not been expecting what he had disclosed. Having already stirred her coffee for far longer than the norm to dissolve the sugar, she placed the spoon down quietly and took a sip of the cup of decaf. Booth watched her, waiting for a reaction.

"One big question for you," she finally said. "Exactly how do you plan to solve cases without Brennan?"

"She's not excluded from the cases," he reiterated. "Just from field work."

"Again: how do you plan to solve cases without Brennan?"

Booth furrowed his brow and stared at her. "You think Bones will stop working with me altogether just because she's not supposed to be out in the field?"

Cam's eyebrows shot up and she placed her coffee cup down on the table. "Booth, you authorized the Bureau to have her cut off from field work. I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that she didn't hug you when you told her this."

The dark look in Booth's eyes told her all she needed to know about how the conversation went between the two. She watched him as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the diner table and resting his face in his hands. She felt bad for the guy. He was only trying to do the right thing, and had possibly ended up making an irreversible mistake.

"You don't think she might change her mind and agree to be lab-centered for a month or so, do you?" he mumbled behind his hands. Cam snorted and he peered at her through his fingers.

"Have you met Temperance Brennan, Seely? Do you remember that she essentially blackmailed you in order to get to get full access to cases in the first place?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do remember that, Cam. How _you_ know that, however, seeing as how you weren't working with us then…" he said irritably, not appreciating the fact that she did not seem to be on board with the whole idea.

"There are very few people who don't know that she blackmailed you," Cam informed him, slightly amused at the disgruntled look on his face at receiving that news. "But in answer to your question… no, I don't think she's going to be particularly pleased at the idea of being forced to stay in the lab while you go gallivanting about chasing after bad guys."

A smart retort was on the tip of his tongue, but Booth bit it back when he realized Cam was right. Having nothing else to do, he picked up his fork and poked aimlessly at the apple pie in front of him. All it did was remind him of times spent with Brennan after cases, celebrating in a small but important way. He put the fork down with more force than was necessary and shoved the plate away with a sigh.

"I'm gonna kill Sweets," he grumbled.

The plan to try to help Brennan cope with everything that had happened was not off to a great start. Booth thought back to a few days before when the idea had been proposed to him by Sweets. He had had his doubts, but upon discovering that Deputy Director Cullen had already been informed of Sweets' intents and was fully backing the therapist, Booth hadn't had much of a choice. He and Brennan had essentially spent the last three years on thin ice with the D.D., and after being sent to the mandated therapy to save their partnership it wasn't a huge leap for the Bureau to make a move like this. The Bureau had been trying to rein Brennan in for the majority of their partnership. The problem was, Booth was quickly losing faith in the success of such a move.

"Seely, Sweets is just trying to do what he thinks is best for the two of you," Cam said, lifting her cup again. "And if some time apart is what it takes for you guys to emerge stronger, then it might need to happen. I'm just saying, Brennan won't like it."

Booth nodded slowly at her words. Looking slightly guiltily up at her, he said, "Yeah, about that… it's not just me and Bones Sweets is out to save."

Cam paused, coffee cup halfway to her mouth. Her eyes rounded in suspicion.

"What does that mean?"

"He wants us all to have sessions with him… to help deal with what happened with Zach," he told her solemnly, not lifting his eyes from the table.

Cam's throat tightened at the mention of the young doctor's name. She had had a soft spot for Zach since she started working at the Jeffersonian and had felt an immeasurable amount of guilt and pain upon the team's discovery of his involvement with Gormogon. Two weeks after his departure from their lives, she thought she had managed to put a lid on those emotions. One mention of his name, however, and they came flooding back. Perhaps a few sessions with Sweets were not a completely unnecessary request.

* * *

"Angela, when you said girl's night out, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind!" Brennan shouted at her friend over the blaring rock music and raucous crowd.

"What exactly were you expecting, Bren?" Angela smiled over her shoulder as she led Brennan over to the bar.

"I dunno, margaritas at your apartment, painting toenails, watching _Sex and the City_," Brennan said as she surveyed the club again. "Definitely not this."

"I am _impressed_, Bren, that was quite the cultural reference," Angela looked proud as she brought them to a stop near the corner of the bar. "Although I must say, painting toenails went out in seventh grade."

"Oh no, I've never actually seen _Sex and the City,_ but it's been so widely advertised recently in our society given our female population's preoccupation with perpetual youth despite obvious aging that it's been extremely hard to miss," Brennan quickly pointed out, launching into what Angela was sure would turn out to be something scientific about the show. "I still don't own a TV, so there's really no way for me to know about it. I just figured that maybe you might…"

"Own the DVDs? No, I can honestly say that despite my love of shopping, I've never bought a single DVD of that show. But good effort, sweetie!" Angela nodded her encouragement. Then her smile shifted to one of mischievousness. "Margaritas, however, are totally part of the plan tonight. You stay right here, I'll be back."

Before Brennan had a chance to respond, Angela disappeared into the crowd, only to return once her search for drinks had proved successful. Once Angela had left her sight, Brennan turned her attention back to studying the club she had been brought to. She had to give Angela credit, it was creative and certainly unlike any place she had been to before. The club had been constructed in an old warehouse, though it was not massive in size. There were giant multi-colored holiday lights hung from the rafters and the metal staircases leading up to a second level, in addition to a few white neon bulbs strategically placed throughout the place.

In the center of the room where a dance floor might normally be were giant flats of canvas hung by wires from the ceiling. As far as Brennan could tell, completely random artists were dipping into paint can placed beneath the canvas and creating huge, communal works of art. On the second floor, people were rotating between blocks of clay to sculpt whatever came to their minds. The music playing was mostly rock with a driven beat, and alcohol was in great supply. Anthropologically, it was one of the most interesting clubs Angela had taken her to.

As she was watching a man and a woman adding to the canvas with brushes held between their toes, a colorful glass being held before her face blocked her vision. She looked to her left and saw Angela with a large grin on her face.

"They make 'em large, and they make 'em strong," her friend grinned, indicating the margarita in her hand.

"Ange, this place is quite extraordinary," Brennan said as took hold of her glass.

"Hodgins found it, believe it or not."

"I _don't_ believe it," Brennan said in all sincerity. Angela looked over at her.

"Just drink, sweetie," she smiled.

As Brennan raised the glass to her lips, she noticed a multi-colored, plastic test tube resting in the ice. She pulled it out and looked at it in confusion. Angela tapped her arm to catch her attention and motioned to Brennan that it was a shooter. Once recognition dawned on Brennan's face, Angela grabbed her own tequila shooter and they threw them back together. Brennan grimaced. It had been a while since she'd done this. In fact, the last time she'd had shots was with Booth. The thought made her chest tighten. Thankfully, Angela did not seem to notice any change in her composure.

"Woo!" Angela exclaimed, tossing the test tube in a nearby garbage can. "They don't skimp on the good stuff here. Drink up!"

After a long sip from their glasses, Angela glanced at her friend and wondered if she had loosened up enough to talk about what had happened that day. She wasn't entirely sure how to broach the subject. After a few seconds of silence and margarita sipping, she chickened out.

"Hodgins brought me here on our anniversary," she said for lack of anything better to say. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, they sounded too strained and pathetic. Fortunately, Brennan was famous for missing social cues for a reason.

"I could see why he would want to bring you here," she replied, then, after another drink, "When are you going to stop calling him Hodgins? He is your fiancé."

"I dunno, when is Booth going to stop calling you Bones, that's not even your name," Angela laughed, and nearly choked on her drink when she realized she'd brought him up. Her eyes flew to Brennan to see what her reaction would be. Immediately, she regretted bringing the subject up so soon. Brennan's eyes had dropped to the floor and she was fingering her glass absently. "I'm so sorry Bren, I didn't mean to… I… you know what!" she cried in a sudden change of tactic, nearly making Brennan jump. "He's being a big douche bag right now, and I for one refuse to let him ruin our night! Down that margarita, girl!"

"Angela, in all fairness, Sweets and the Bureau practically forced him to-"

"No excuses for that man tonight!" Angela cut her off and pointed to the drink. "Down it!"

Unsure of what overcame her in that moment, if it was the alcohol starting to settle into her system or just the strain of the day being released, Brennan caught onto Angela's free spirited mood. Her eyes flashed with renewed strength and she set her jaw in determination. She looked at Angela with a smile and they drank the last of their margaritas, placing the glasses on the bar before Angela grabbed Brennan's hand and dragged her out to the canvas in the center of the room. Before she had a moment to think about backing down, Angela had thrust a paintbrush in Brennan's hand and they were suddenly swept up the crowd of artists painting randomly to the rhythms of an indie song blaring around them.

Although she was making a good go of it, Brennan's strokes were a bit stiff and tentative. Part of her felt a little foolish for even trying something like this. After all, how was it helping?

Before she had time for another thought, a male voice spoke into her ear.

"If you relax your wrist, the art releases itself more freely."

She turned her head and came face to face with a tall, handsome man dressed in jeans and a white button down shirt that was splattered in paint.

"It's my first time doing this," she said, as though that would excuse her from any mistakes she might be making.

"That's fine," he smiled easily. "This isn't about perfection. Just creation. It doesn't have to mean anything."

"Actually, historically, all art means something. Even movements such as Da-Da, modern art, even certain branches of performance art that are commonly considered irrelevant all mean something to at least one person."

"What she means," Angela stepped in before her friend talked her way out of a date. "Is that nothing is meaningless. And she'd like you to show her this could be something meaningful."

Brennan turned and gave Angela an incredulous look, but she was not successful at keeping a hint of a smile off of her face. Angela just shrugged and nodded her head in the direction of the handsome artist. Brennan turned back to the man who was standing there in a slightly shy, but adorable manner.

"Relax the wrists?" she asked. He took the offer with a grin.

"Yeah," he said, standing next to her and taking hold of the hand that held the paintbrush gently but with confidence. For the next few minutes, he guided her hand across the canvas in random, sweeping motions. Brennan knew that she was only painting nonsense, but she let her hand be led. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Angela watching her with a pleased look on her face.

* * *

"Oh my God, Bren, that guy was way too into you for you to just let him walk out of here without your number!"

Two hours and many drinks later, mostly purchased by male admirers of the pair, Angela and Brennan were seated at a table on the second floor watching a man sculpt a life-sized copy of the Statue of David.

"If he had wanted my number, he could have asked," Brennan reasoned.

"He was shy!"

"Didn't seem like to me," Brennan said with more than a hint of innuendo. Angela laughed loudly, causing Brennan to laugh right along with her.

"Oh dear," Angela sighed when they had both caught their breath. "Sweetie, I am so glad you got out tonight. You needed it after what happened. I know it doesn't fix anything, but it at least keeps you out of the lab for a few hours."

Brennan studied the table for a moment, and Angela was afraid she had spoken too soon.

"I know how bones work," Brennan said. Even to her own ears the statement sounded random and heavy with the proof of how much alcohol she had consumed in the last two hours. "They fit together, the same way every time. Well almost every time, there have been a few skeletons in my career that have been complete anomalies. In fact, there was a skeleton from Chile that I pieced together once which had phalanges where there should have been-"

"Bren."

"Sorry," she said, holding up a hand. She took a slow drink from the margarita in front of her. "My point is, they don't surprise me. Ever. Even the strangest finds within the pieces make up a whole, and the whole will make sense when all the pieces are there. Does that… am I clear?"

"Surprisingly, crystal," Angela said with a sigh. "I speak trashed anthropologist very well at this point in my life. You should hear Hodgins after a few glasses of wine."

Brennan smiled at the thought. Within seconds, though, her face went back to one of concentration and anger.

"And right now, Booth," she went on, shaking her hands in the air as though she could strangle him from where she sat. "Booth, he is just, he's this stupid piece that won't fit anywhere. He's like the two hundred and seventh bone that won't go anywhere logical, why didn't he tell me he was faking his death?"

Angela stared at her in a stunned silence. _Whoa, the girl has finally snapped_. She reached across the table and slid Brennan's glass away from her.

"Okay, no more tequila for you," she said with a nervous laugh. "Thank God Booth isn't actually here, he would be in for one hell of a fight."

With that statement, Brennan's eyes lit up with a look of sheer determination.

"He would be! And why shouldn't I tell him exactly what I think of him?" she exclaimed as Angela tried desperately to follow where this was going. Brennan dove into her purse and fished out her cell phone. Angela's eyes went wide.

"Oooh, drunk phone calls are a bad idea, Bren," she warned, but at this point her friend was in a world of her own, dialing the agent's number. All she could do was watch in horror as the train wreck unfolded before her.

"Booth, first of all, you have your phone off, which makes yelling at you very difficult. Secondly, I have called to tell you a few things. One, I don't appreciate the fact that you went behind my back to _our_ therapist to discuss if it was a good idea to let me keep working. I think I know when I am capable of doing the job I was hired to do by one of the most prestigious institutions in the country. I never shot an ice cream truck, Booth, so I don't feel that it is justified that I'm suspended like you were. You _shot_ an ice cream truck because you were stressed. I didn't do that, I didn't shoot anyth – well, okay," she paused, her mind returning to the night in the karaoke bar. "I shot… I shot Pam… I," she stopped again, realizing that it was the first time she'd said it aloud. "I killed her. I killed her because I thought she had killed you and I hated her for it. And Zach… well I don't know. He was so… I trusted him."

She stopped for a third time, and Angela thought she might just hang up, leaving everything hanging with that one statement. But she kept on.

"I can't stop working, Booth. If I stop, I have to think about it. I don't want to think about… I'll talk to Sweets tomorrow," she said suddenly, shocking herself and Angela. "But if he thinks I shouldn't be in the field after I talk to him it's your own damn fault and you are out one brilliant forensic anthropologist, because as I said when we first started working together, the next nearest one is in Montreal! So… think about that!"

With that, she hung up her phone and held it in front of her as though she were afraid of it. She met Angela's watering eyes, knowing her own were close to tears. After several tense seconds, Angela held out her hand.

"Want me to hang onto your phone for the rest of the night?"

"Yes please."


	3. Chapter 3

**It bodes well that I am this creative this soon… And again, thank you for the reviews!! It's like ambrosia to us writers, those words of kindness and encouragement!**

* * *

A soft knock on the door roused Brennan from the semi-conscious state she had been drifting in for the last few minutes. She propped herself up on the guest bed and immediately regretted the quick movement. Her hand flew to her head to try to still the swimming and she closed her eyes.

"Come in," she said, her voice already raspy.

Angela opened the door to the guest bedroom, one of several that were housed within Hodgins' mansion. After the night the two women had had, she insisted on Brennan staying the night so that she wouldn't spend most of it worried about what her friend might be going through alone in her apartment. When they had walked in the door, Hodgins had looked at them with curiosity, but one glance from Angela told him to not ask any questions. She would explain it all in due time.

"Ange, this really wasn't necessary," Brennan said as the artist walked over to her bearing an extra set of pajamas, a glass of water, and a bottle of aspirin.

"Are you kidding? There's no way I was leaving you on your own tonight," Angela told her, sitting down on the edge of the bed and handing Brennan the water and aspirin. Brennan accepted it gratefully and washed down two of the white pills. "Do you want to talk?"

"I think I've done enough talking for one night," Brennan sighed, thinking now with a slightly clearer mind on the phone call she had made. She was going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow.

"Okay then," Angela said sympathetically, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I'll let you get some rest. If you need anything, I'm just down the hall."

Brennan nodded and Angela stood up and left the room quietly. Hardly glancing at the extra set of pajamas Angela brought in for her, Brennan kicked off her shoes and flopped back onto the bed, sinking into the luxurious pillows. It took a huge effort to lean over and shut the lamp off, but the light was starting to make her head hurt even more than it already was. Once she had adjusted to the darkness, she rolled over and stared out the French window at the night sky. Despite her exhaustion, her mind refused to settle and she found herself analyzing everything that had happened that day.

Within minutes, she began contemplating what her life was going to be like without Booth in it every single day. It was an astonishingly different feeling than when she had thought he was dead. In death, she had no choice but to accept his absence from her life. This, however, was something else entirely. She was being kept from him at the Bureau's insistence. She felt helpless, ill at the thought of losing the strongest touchstone in her life. In that moment, Temperance Brennan allowed herself to do something she had not done in months, not even in facing her father's trial, Booth's supposed death, and Zach's incarceration – she buried her face in the pillow and wept.

* * *

Dr. Lance Sweets was starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable sitting in his office alone with the FBI Agent seated across from him. Given the fact that Seely Booth made him fairly uncomfortable in normal circumstances, it was currently reaching palpable levels. He never quite realized how much he had relied on Dr. Brennan to deflect Booth's energy. For the fifth time since Booth had arrived, Sweets glanced at his watch, unsure of what else to do. He heard the agent sigh in disapproval.

"She'll be here," he said gruffly.

"Oh, yeah," Sweets said quickly, his head bobbing in agreement as he forced himself to fold his hands in his lap. "Dude, I'm so not worried about that."

"So you think _I'm_ worried that she won't show up?" Booth asked defensively.

"No, man. Although I wouldn't blame you if you were concerned."

"I'm not."

"Good," Sweets gave him congenial grin. He observed the agent for a few moments, noting the way he was seated all the way back on the couch, his arms crossed tensely over his chest. Though his body was completely still, Sweets could detect a slight grinding of the teeth and, although Booth seemed to be annoyed by Sweets checking his watch, the agent's eyes were continually flicking to the door in nervous anticipation. _Not worried at all_, Sweets thought. "Y'know, Agent Booth, it's okay to think that Dr. Brennan would respond negatively towards all this."

At this, Booth's eyes stopped their survey of the office door and fixed instead in a death glare on the therapist. Sweets froze.

"This was all your idea, Sweets," Booth began in a low voice. "I know the Bureau bullied you into it because they've been trying to check Bones on her involvement in cases for years, but I swear to God, if you've harmed us more than helped us - "

Before Sweets got to find out what exactly Agent Booth would do to him, the door to the office opened and a slightly harried Temperance Brennan walked in, barely glancing at either man as she shut the door and headed towards the leather couch. Decidedly avoiding Booth's gaze, she perched herself at the opposite end of the couch and immediately crossed her legs and folded her hands neatly on top of her knees. Booth glanced at her, feeling his heart rate pick up now that she was actually in the room and he would be forced to deal with the aftermath of yesterday. And that phone call.

"Dr. Brennan, thanks for joining us," Sweets said, and was met with two pairs of disapproving eyes. Even when they were fighting, there was an undeniable connection between the two. He cleared his throat. "So we're here today to discuss the possibility of Dr. Brennan taking some time off from field work to get a handle on some very traumatic events."

Booth tensed in his seat, stealing another look at his partner. She timidly lifted her eyes to his for the first time since entering the room before letting her gaze drop back to her lap. Sweets observed them with eyebrows raised in expectation, starting to get annoyed at the silent treatment the two seemed to be giving each other.

"Dr. Brennan?" he said, drawing her attention. Her chestnut hair fell away from her face as she lifted her head to look at him. Her expression was unreadable. "What are your thoughts on this?"

She shrugged.

"Everyone seems to think it's a wise idea," she said noncommittally.

Sweets leaned forward in his chair and held eye contact with her. In all the time he had been working with Booth and Brennan, he had never managed to get her to respond to a situation with anything but calculated rationality. The build up of the year's events was going to release itself somehow, he was sure of that, and the last thing he wanted was to let that impending explosion impact her abilities as a scientist. This was his one chance to get through to her.

"What do _you_ think about it?" he asked her pointedly.

Booth watched the exchange in suspense, hardly daring to move. He could practically see the wheels in Brennan's mind spinning, trying to figure out the best way to answer that would ensure she maintained her power and firm stance against psychology in general.

"I think," she said, sighing, "that it might not be a terrible idea."

A stunned silence followed her words, and she shifted uncomfortably, folding her arms over her chest in the mirror stance of her partner.

"For reals?" Sweets finally found his voice, almost unable to hide the eagerness he felt at the prospect of making real progress with her. Brennan let out an annoyed huff and clenched her teeth.

"Yes, for reals," she said. Before Sweets could respond, she leaned forward and pointed a finger at him. "But I still want involvement in all cases that Booth deals with! I still have a job to do."

Booth had a hard time holding back a smug smile. _There's my girl_. Sweets held up his hands in submission.

"Sure, fine, whatever the FBI will let you do," he quickly consented, grinning and nodding. "Excellent. Okay, so as long as we're all in agreement here, I'll see you Wednesday for your first session, Dr. Brennan."

"Wait, what?" Booth's head snapped around to face the therapist. He had not anticipated this. "Just Bones?"

"Yeah," Sweets answered. "I thinks it's important that Dr. Brennan be in an environment where she can feel free to openly discuss all aspects of what's been happening."

"Look, Sweets," Booth said with more than a hint of irritation. "I think Bones would feel perfectly free to discuss anything in front of me, right Bones?"

Sweets looked at Brennan as she carefully avoided her partner's eyes. A lot was riding in that question, and her answer would speak volumes. The solidarity in their partnership was being shaken, something that they had not really encountered up until this point, and Brennan was being forced to actually think about her emotional reactions.

"I don't see how individual sessions could hurt," she said calmly with a slight tilt of her chin.

"Are you serious?" Booth exclaimed, not sure where he had missed the moment she suddenly started to agree with everything Sweets proposed.

"What, Booth? It wasn't my idea, this is all his fault," Brennan finally turned to face Booth while pointing an accusatory finger at Sweets.

"Whoa, guys, this wasn't all my doing - "

"Yes it was!" the pair responded in unison.

Dumbfounded at the rollercoaster quality of the conversation and slightly concerned for his safety, Sweets grabbed his paperwork from the coffee table and stood up. He indicated Brennan with the file in his hand.

"Wednesday, nine am," he said. He spared one last hopeless look for the pair, and then promptly left the room, shaking his head and muttering something about a long island vacation. They watched him leave, somewhat surprised. Booth turned to look at Brennan.

"You scared him off again," she said, giving him a look with just enough attitude to get him riled up all over again. Biting back the comments that were threatening to burst from his mouth, Booth stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Let's go, Bones," he said through gritted teeth.

* * *

The ride back to the Jeffersonian had never seemed so long to Brennan. Angela had dropped her off for the therapy session and, unfortunately, Booth was her only option for getting to the lab. They had spent almost the entire ride in an unbearably tense silence, trapped in the confines of Booth's SUV with nothing but the last twenty-four hours as potential conversation. It was taking all her effort not to bring up the voicemail. He hadn't said one word about it, and it was starting to bother her. His ability to pretend that things never happened was getting on her last nerve. She glanced over at him again, wanting not for the first time to rip those stupid sunglasses off his face so she could see his eyes and try to figure out what he was thinking. Booth flexed his arms and stretched, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"If you want to talk, Bones, just talk," he said. "Don't keep staring at me."

Her eyes snapped back to the road in front of them. He was going to drive her crazy.

"Why haven't you said anything about last night?" she finally asked. She could see him shift in his seat out of the corner of her eye.

"I didn't think you'd want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you were obviously drunk, Bones. People say things they don't always mean when they're drunk," he told her. She turned to look at him, her eyes narrowing.

"You think I didn't mean any of what I said?" she asked him.

"Y'know, it's hard to tell with those kinds of phone calls, and I just wanted to give you the opportunity to let it go… if you were embarrassed about it at all," Booth said carefully. Brennan stared at him in disbelief.

"I meant what I said, Booth," she said firmly, losing any fears she had about his reaction. "And I am certainly not _embarrassed_ by it. Clearly it didn't affect you at all, so I have no real reason to be - "

"Bones, I didn't say that it didn't - "

" – ashamed of what I said. You're the one who's always trying to get me to open up - "

" – affect me, because it did, but I know how you get about these things and I just - "

" – about emotions and give a little of myself, so why on earth should I feel the need to explain my actions?"

" – want to make sure that you're okay. I don't want you to be in pain."

His final words caught her off guard and she looked at him in surprise. Was that what he thought, that she was walking around with the constant pain of the events of the last few months?

"I'm not, Booth," she told him.

In the moment of silence that followed, Brennan suddenly became aware that the car had stopped moving. They had arrived at the Jeffersonian. Without the sounds of the engine as the car moved along the highway, the level of discomfort as she waited for his response was elevated and she wished he would say something, anything. After what seemed like an eternity, Booth let go of the steering wheel and reached for his sunglasses, taking them off and turning to face her. The intensity of his deep brown eyes unnerved her.

"Why not, Bones?" he asked her simply.

"What?" she said, confused.

"Why aren't you in pain?"

Her mouth opened, but no words formed.

Before she had a chance to recover her voice, Booth's cell phone sounded, breaking them out of their moment. Closing his eyes in annoyance, he reached for the phone and flipped it open.

"Booth," he said, listening intently to the voice on the other end. Brennan watched him as he listened, unable to turn away. She felt shaken, scared at the effect his words from just a moment ago had on her. She saw his face take on a somber expression, his brow drawing in concentration. This was a look she recognized. "Yes, sir… I understand, sir. No it's not a problem at all, tomorrow morning is fine."

With that, he hung up. Sighing, he stared out the windshield at the grounds of the institute. Brennan waited.

"They found a body in West Virginia," he told her, his voice quiet. "I'm supposed to leave in the morning."

"And I…"

"Stay here."


	4. Chapter 4

**Seeeeeee, I told you I don't update that quickly all the time. Eep. But yay reviews!! Thanks and enjoy.**

* * *

Far sooner than she would have liked, Brennan found herself back on that black leather couch facing the young man who had wormed himself into her and Booth's lives. This time, she was alone. In addition, she was not particularly happy. Her fingernails picked at the cardboard heat protector that encased her Starbucks cup. The latte was long gone, but she held onto the cup anyway, trying to keep her hands occupied when she knew they could be far more useful in the lab this morning. Her eyes drifted around the office, waiting for Sweets to speak. At the moment, the therapist was seated in his usual place opposite her, his fingers steepled together in front of his face.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Dr. Brennan," he said, breaking the silence. "It was just a tactic."

"Not a very good one," she replied honestly.

"I was just trying to give you options on how to release your thoughts."

"By having me draw pictures…" she narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"Okay, clearly it was not the right choice," he said quickly, dropping his hands into his lap and scooting forward in his chair. Brennan shrugged a shoulder.

"Maybe if I was ten."

Sweets gave her what bordered on a withering look. Much as she frustrated him sometimes, it was still not his place to insult her.

"Thank you," he said dryly.

"No, I'm only saying that had I been a young child, I'm sure your tactic would have worked very well," Brennan made a quick attempt at being reassuring. "It's just that… I'm not."

_Although there are times_… Sweets thought to himself. He cleared his throat and reached for his tie, loosening it and collecting his thoughts. The trouble with working with one of the world's finest minds was that it took all his effort and training to ask the right questions in order to coax the right answers. Dr. Brennan was very good at dodging his insights. Whether she meant to or not was something he had yet to determine.

"Right," he said, deciding to try a more direct approach. "So I understand that Agent Booth left for a case yesterday."

"Yes, he did."

Silence followed her words as Sweets waited to see if she would volunteer any information on what was bound to be a sore subject. Her eyes remained calmly locked with his, her hands still laced around the coffee cup.

"And how are you dealing with that?" he asked her point blank. Her brow furrowed only slightly.

"Well… he's gone," she said slowly, as though she were trying to explain the situation to a child. "So currently I'm waiting for him to send along any evidence that he may come across that we can process in the lab. The body hasn't arrived yet."

"No, no," Sweets stopped her gently and held up his hand. "I don't need to know about the case. What I want to know is how you're feeling about not being with Booth."

"I'm annoyed."

_Bingo_.

His eyebrows quirked, a bit surprised at the blunt answer. When she didn't elaborate immediately, he was worried that perhaps that would be the only answer he would get. However, he took quick notice of her stiffened posture, the tightened grip on her cup, the slight pout in her usually neutral mouth. Sweets leaned back in his chair and gestured for her to continue, not bothering to pose any specific question. Brennan blinked a few times and took a deep breath.

"I should be with him," she said, sounding as put out as she looked. "We work exceptionally well as partners, and this forced separation may very well hinder the work that we do. So yes, I'm annoyed."

"Because you don't think you'll be able to do your job right."

"Yes."

"Because you won't be working directly _with_ Booth."

"Yes."

"Because of a forced separation."

"Yes."

"A forced separation that you agreed to only two days ago."

"I…" Brennan started, finding herself unable to come up with a reasonable explanation yet again for why she had agreed to this. So she fell back on the reason she did most anything. "If this is what it takes to be allowed back into the field, to remain partners with Booth… to keep doing what it is that I do… then I'll agree to it."

"Hm," Sweets considered her for a moment. She would do almost anything to continue with her work, even putting up with a science she deemed faulty and ineffectual. Her dedication to her work and to Booth was exceptionally strong. Yet, he had come to know her too well to believe that work was the sole reason for her cooperation. Somewhere under all the passion for bones and discovering the truth was a deeper passion for the people in her life that she had been denying for years. Maybe he was just being optimistic, but Sweets thought that maybe that passion was finally bubbling to the surface. "Fair enough, Dr. Brennan. So, in that case, indulge me for a minute: did you and Booth see each other before he left? Did you discuss what you just told me?"

"What? No," Brennan's voiced jumped half an octave and her eyes snapped up to meet Sweets.' "I mean, yes, we did see each other. To discuss the details of what would happen with the case with him being in the mountains and with me being… here. It was important to organize the process of communication under the circumstances. But no… I guess I didn't tell him anything about why I said yes. To this."

"Did he ask?"

"No," she answered, her eyes dropping to her hands. Sweets leaned forward and waited until she met his gaze again.

"Maybe," he said softly, "try telling him sometime. The dude worries about you. It might reassure him."

Brennan quietly processed his words as Sweets leaned back in his chair again and grabbed a notepad and pen off the end table next to him. He flipped a few pages and the uncapped the pen.

"So!" he switched gears. "Have you talked to your dad recently?"

"A few days ago," she replied, grateful for the change in topic.

"How's that going?"

Brennan answered his questions about her father without hesitation, being sure to inform him about their plans to meet for lunch every Friday. The beginnings of a new relationship. Her mind went on autopilot as he inquired on a subject that held no secrets, but for Sweets probably revealed a lot. She wasn't terribly concerned. All she cared about was that he had stopped asking her about her last moments with Booth before he had left for West Virginia. She was afraid that he would be able to see her heart hammering away inside her chest, or pick up on the flush that she was sure crept over her skin. In that moment she had prayed to a god she didn't believe in to let Sweets overlook the signs, because all she wanted to do was forget, and discussing any of that night with Sweets was the complete opposite of forgetting. Somehow, though, she knew the memory of Booth's hands on her skin and his lips pressed oh so gently against hers would remain tattooed in her mind for a long, long time.

* * *

**Don't panic, lovies, there will be a re-cap. I'm not that cruel.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hope everyone is enjoying this - - thanks for reading and a big thanks to those who reviewed! **

**And to Ronata: oh my goodness, I thought I was the only one who wasn't getting email alerts!! Good, now I know I'm not crazy. Annoying as hell, I hope it gets fixed soon haha!**

* * *

"Angela, I swear, if you keep staring at me like that I'm going to take out a restraining order on you."

Angela quickly ripped her eyes away from Hodgins and refocused them on the sketchpad she was holding. How had he even seen her watching him with his eyes practically glued to that microscope? Well, in all fairness, if she wanted a more inconspicuous observation of him she probably shouldn't have chosen the platform where he was studying particulates.

"You would never," she said with a smile, only slightly convinced.

"You're right, I wouldn't," Hodgins lifted his large blue eyes to look at her, flashing a grin. "But I will banish you to your office if you don't knock it off."

She gave him an apologetic smile, knowing he was joking. It seemed like everyone in the lab had been forgiving snarky behavior recently. They had all been on edge since the end of the Gormogon case, and her natural reaction was to do everything in her power to fix the sadness. Maybe she had been a little to eager recently.

"You know I'm just worried," she told him, and was met with a sigh.

"I know, babe," he said, swiveling his chair around to face her. She took the move as an invitation to talk, so she set her pad and pencil aside and leaned towards him.

"You haven't even been in his apartment yet," she said, her concern lacing her voice. "You're not going to be able to leave it that way forever. Eventually you'll have to clear it out… try to move on."

Hodgins looked down at his folded hands, trying not to let her see how much her words affected him. Normally they were very open with their emotions, but from time to time he made an attempt to hold onto his male dignity. He knew he was avoiding dealing with the aftermath for as long as possible, but at the moment he did not care. It was not something he was prepared to deal with just yet. Reaching out to take hold of her hands, he looked up into Angela's face.

"Ange, I can't just move on. Zack lived above my garage for over four years. We rode to work together every day. Once I get rid of his things…" he trailed off, and Angela placed a comforting hand along his cheek.

"I know," she said softly. "When you're ready, I'll be here for you."

"This is why I love you," Hodgins smiled at her, a smile that was reserved only for her.

"Is that the only reason?" she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I can think of a few more," he murmured, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her lips. The sound of high-heeled footsteps approaching caused them to break apart. Angela spotted Brennan entering the lab, her hair pulled back into a ponytail and a look of concentration on her face. Instead of heading onto the platform, she breezed by them and set off in the direction of her office. Hodgins stood up.

"Dr. Brennan, I've got the results on the fibers from the crime scene," he called after her.

"I'll take a look at them later," she replied without a spare glance in his direction.

"How was therapy?" Angela asked.

"Fine!" Brennan called over her shoulder before disappearing into her office and shutting the door. Angela looked at Hodgins.

"Fine?" she questioned.

"Ah yes, 'fine,'" he said. "The Holy Grail of evasive vocabulary."

* * *

Brennan dumped her bag unceremoniously on her couch and dropped herself down on the floor, leaning back so her head was resting on the cushion. For a moment, she contemplated closing the blinds so she could have ten minutes of privacy to just think, but she realized that would only invite more questions later on. The very last thing she needed today was someone else asking her how she was feeling. The therapy session had not been as horribly intrusive as she had expected, and it made her worry. Not once had Sweets asked about the shooting, her father's trial, or Zack, which could only mean that he was saving those topics for one big emotional session. It put her on edge. If Sweets was doing this on purpose, it was working, because she had been fully prepared to tackle those events with logical and fulfilling answers.

But no. No, no, no, today he had chosen to find out about how her relationship with her father was coming along, whether they had bonded over their mutual love of tuna melts and high hopes for her bother. And of course to ask about Booth leaving.

Booth.

Brennan let out a breath that she felt she had been holding since Sweets first brought the topic up. She closed her eyes and her hands reached up to toy with whatever random necklace she had mindlessly donned that morning. With the sounds of the lab silenced by her door, she let her mind drift back to two nights ago, wondering not for the first time if she had dreamt it…

* * *

_Between her absorption in the anthropology journal she was reading and the music playing from her stereo, Brennan wasn't sure she how long the knocking had been going on before she finally heard it. Standing up from her living room couch, she tossed the journal to the coffee table and padded barefoot to the door to peer through the peephole. She was met with the logo of Pam Thai Restaurant. Smiling slightly, she opened the door to reveal Booth standing there with a take-out bag held up in front of his face._

"_What's this?" she asked._

"_Peace offering," he said hopefully. She rolled her eyes but stepped aside all the same to let him in. He gave her his patented goofy grin and hustled inside before she could change her mind._

"_Booth, I'm not mad at you anymore," she told him as she shut the door, watching as he made himself at home and began to place the take-out containers on her dining room table._

" '_Anymore' implies you were," he said. "And I'm just not okay with you being mad at me."_

"_The solution would be to not make me mad in the first place," she suggested as she headed to the fridge to pull out two beers._

"_Y'see Bones, that would be the easy way," he said with a sly grin, taking one of the beers she offered and wiping the condensation on the hem of his black T-shirt. "But since when have I ever taken the easy route?"_

_She raised her eyebrows and took a sip from her beer. Booth smiled at her, twisting the top off of his own beer as he looked around and suddenly became aware of the music playing. He looked back at her in confusion._

"_Bones, what are you listening to?"_

"_Weezer."_

_Had he been drinking from the bottle in his hand, he would have choked. His eyebrows shot up in surprise._

"_What?!" he laughed. Brennan looked at him in slight embarrassment._

"_Russ bought it for me," she said defensively. "He said I needed to expand my interests."_

_Booth shrugged and nodded his head._

"_Makes a good addition to _Foreigner,_ I guess," he said._

_A heavy silence fell over them as they sipped from their bottles, both trying to pretend that the situation in which they found themselves was not as serious as it seemed. _

"_So you leave in the morning?" Brennan suddenly asked. Booth leaned against the table and sighed._

"_Aaand we avoided that conversation for a total of two minutes," he said._

"_I'm sorry, I just don't see the point in avoiding it. It's going to be hard to manage this, and I think it's important to get the logistics in place before you go," she told him, ever the voice of reason. Booth looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face._

"_I drive out to Horner, West Virginia, at six a.m.," he said. "The Bureau is sending me with as much as they can spare in the way of crime scene technology so that I can keep you as informed as possible."_

_He looked away from her and took a long draught from his beer. His voice had been cool, just barely on the good side professional. It annoyed her to hear him talk to her like that_

"_Why are you acting like this?" she asked._

"_Just trying to get the logistics out of the way," he said, avoiding her eyes. She stared at him, unbelieving._

"_I didn't ask for this, Booth," she told him, and cut him off as he opened his mouth to speak. "And I know you didn't, either. Not really, anyway. So don't make this difficult just because I want to continue doing my job right."_

_Booth regarded her for a long moment, taking in the look of determination in her eyes that he had seen so often since they first began to work together three years ago._

"_It's always about the job with you, isn't it?"_

"_What else would it be about?" she asked him, genuinely confused. Booth took another sip of his beer before pushing himself away from the table and chucking the bottle into the nearby garbage can. It landed with a soft clatter._

"_I think I'm gonna head out," he said, shoving his hand into the pockets of his jeans and heading towards the door. "This is all getting a little too WB drama for me tonight, and I gotta get up early."_

"_I don't know what that means," Brennan said, turning to watch him go. He stopped at the door and looked back at her._

"_I know," he said softly, almost sadly. "I'll give you a call when I get to Horner, Bones."_

_Before she could respond, he walked out, shutting the door softly behind him. Filled with confusion about what had just happened and a welling mix of anger and disappointment, Brennan crossed the room and stopped in front of the door, intending to deadbolt it for the night. Her hand paused on the lock, waiting to hear the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall, but she didn't. Curious, she peered out of the peephole and saw him standing there, his back to the door, unmoving. She pulled back and thought for a moment, taking a deep breath. Deliberately, she reached for the doorknob and turned it, pulling the door open slowly. She stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge her._

"_This bites, doesn't it?" he asked quietly._

"_Is it poisonous?"_

_Booth started to laugh. Brennan had absolutely no idea what he was laughing at, but she was relieved to hear the sound all the same. She was even more relieved when he turned around to face her, his eyes glinting with the smile that now graced his face. He reached out to pull her into a hug before she could resist._

"_Oh Bones," he sighed, holding her against his chest. "What am I going to do without you?"_

_The words caused a rush of emotion to hit Brennan, and she clamped her mouth tightly against the lump that was rising in her throat. She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tightly and allowing him to keep his arms protectively around her. Burying her face against the crook of his neck, she felt one of his hands lift from her back to land gently on her head, cradling her to him._

"_Hey, hey," he said softly. "It's not like it's forever. We'll be back in action soon enough."_

"_I know," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder._

_Booth pulled back slightly and let his hand slide to the side of her face, holding her gaze and giving her a reassuring smile, which she returned. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, lingering when he heard her give a small laugh. Her laughter disappeared when his lips traveled from her forehead to her cheek. She felt her heart start to pound inside her chest and she froze, not sure what was going on. Her lips parted to speak, but no words came out. She didn't have time to process what was happening or how she felt about it, and before she had time to stop it, his lips grazed across hers tenderly. She could barely breathe, let alone react, and almost as quickly as the kiss had started she felt him pull away. Her eyes met his, unblinking and filled with awe. When she made no move to step out of his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers again, his lips more insistent, and the thundering of her heart drowned out any rational thought that her brain was trying to produce._

_What on earth was going on? This was Booth… Booth, who had professional lines and rules and all kinds of self-control when it came to decisions of the heart. The same man who had been so reluctant to bend to Caroline's mistletoe request at Christmas. And he was currently kissing her beyond rational thought. Correction. He was currently kissing her beyond rational thought while his hands slowly crept their way under the hem of her tank top, burning her skin where they connected. She felt one of his thumbs gently graze the edge of her bra and she moaned slightly, arching into his touch. _

_He stopped._

_She screamed internally, looking into his eyes and trying to seek out the answers to the dozens of questions that were currently flying through her mind._

"_I'manna go now," he muttered almost incoherently, taking hold of her hips and pushing her back out of his reach instead of simply stepping back himself. He let go and backed slowly from her doorway. "Early morning. I'll be in touch."_

_He cringed at his choice of words, looking for a moment as though he would try to rectify the statement, then deciding against it and waving a hand in the air to try to communicate his thought process that was not working at the moment. Brennan nodded, still in shock, and watched his retreating back as he headed towards the elevator. In the web of confusion that had just been woven, there was only one thing she was certain of – she would not be getting any sleep that night._


	6. Chapter 6

**Bah, too much work lately! And I tried to write on the subway, but the last four times I got on the stupid thing I couldn't get a seat – writing standing up is hard… I did a lot of research on Horner, West Virginia, and I'm pretty confident in the hard facts about the town. All people and events are fictional, although they are based on what I found. If you live there or know anyone who lives there, no offense was meant in the portrayal.**

* * *

After flipping through all two hundred and ninety nine channels on the television set of his room in The Cricket Bed & Breakfast, Booth decided there was officially nothing on the prime time schedule that he had any interest in watching. Tossing the remote on the mattress beside him, he sighed and stretched his arms above his head, waiting to hear the satisfying pop of his shoulders readjusting. It didn't happen. He frowned and let his arms drop back down to rest over his chest. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, he noted that it was only half past nine. He had been in his room for a total of two hours and it had felt like eight.

Booth's day had been miserably uneventful. The town of Horner, West Virginia, population 748, was apparently the most ill equipped to handle a murder investigation of any town in the United States. Or so he felt at the moment. He had arrived just after ten that morning and had been stared at as he drove his black SUV down the main street like he was the most exciting thing to happen to the town in years. And after spending an entire day in Horner, he was starting to get suspicious that he WAS the most exciting thing to happen to the town in years. The main street had exactly one diner, one hardware store, a thrift shop, a pizza joint, and about five gift shops that sold more varieties of porcelain figurines than he had ever seen in his entire life.

The sheriff of the town, a larger than life man by the name of Peter Sheridan, was thankfully a fairly competent man. He took his job seriously enough to take appropriate precautions at the crime scene and keep the locals away. He had cooperated with Booth, which was more than the agent could say for some of the veins of law enforcement he had come across over the years.

With nothing else to do, Booth sat up and grabbed the case file off the bedside table. He flipped it open and began reading what he had so far. A couple of construction workers had found a partially decomposed body at a home construction site near Stone Coal Lake, about twenty minutes outside of Horner. The skull was missing and had yet to be located. The body had been delivered to the local morgue to preserve it until they had the opportunity to deliver it to the Jeffersonian and the crime scene had been taped off and set with a couple of local deputies.

He had put off calling Brennan for as long as he could, rationalizing that he needed to collect all the information possible before he contacted her. Once everything had been done that could be done, however, and Sheriff Sheridan had basically excused him for the day, Booth had no choice. So he hit one on his speed dial.

And she hadn't answered.

And hadn't called him back.

Part of him was extremely relieved, and another part was annoyed. He wound up leaving a voicemail and then spending his entire meal in the local diner mulling over the reasons she wouldn't have answered.

Booth let out a heavy sigh and shut the file, tossing it in the same direction as the TV remote. He would get nothing done on the case tonight. No leads could be made, no ideas posited until he heard back from the squint squad… if he ever heard back from Brennan. His thoughts drifted to his partner, as they had numerous times since he had left her apartment the night before. He had tried a million times to figure out what last night had meant, to him, to her. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the look of wide-eyed surprise on her face as he had backed away from her, could feel her arms wrapped tightly around the back of his neck, the softness of her skin under his hands.

"Stooooop it," he muttered to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

He grabbed his tennis shoes off the floor and yanked them on, deciding that going for a run was the only way he was going to beat the pent up energy.

"Doing everything you can to make sure she's sorting through her feelings, agreeing to the kid's stupid psycho-analysis plan, and what do you do?" he grumbled to the empty room as he laced the shoes. "You _kiss_ her. She's your partner, for God's sake, what the hell were you thinking?"

Snatching a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge, he grabbed his room key and set out.

Given the fact that Horner was exceptionally small, not very well lit, and there had recently been a murder, Booth's options for jogging routes were limited. He wound up at the local high school, taking laps around the track and trying to exhaust the memory of Brennan in his arms from his mind. After nearly an hour, the burning in his lungs was getting to be unbearable. He slowed to a stop near the bleachers and sat down, uncapping the water bottle and taking a long drink. As soon as his breathing had returned to an almost normal level, he was suddenly aware that the sound had been masking a set of voices.

Furrowing his brow, he rose from the bench and quietly set off in the direction of the sound. Rounding the corner of the bleachers, he caught sight of two males lingering by what looked to be an equipment storage unit. Staying close to the shadows, Booth made his way towards them and began to catch specifics of their conversation.

"Man, I'm telling you, we're not gonna get away with it."

"Jesus! Would you shut up? I'm sick of hearing your whining."

"Too fucking bad, dude, I'm gonna whine about it until you realize that you didn't do enough to cover our tracks."

"I don't really give a damn what you think."

Booth had gotten close enough to make out the two individuals. They were young, no more than eighteen, and looked like every other punk teenager Booth had come across, right down to the black hoodies and badly kept hair. Quietly as he could, he reached down to his ankle holster and slowly extracted his gun. He had no intention of taking any chances, regardless of what they were up to.

"You should've hidden it," the taller punk said angrily, looking around and shifting his weight nervously while the shorter teen opened the door to the shed.

"Nothing happened to it," the shorter one said, unconcerned, as he stepped into the shed. "No harm, no foul."

"Whatever, dude."

There was the sound of equipment being moved for a few moments, and then the shorter teen emerged from the shed holding a shovel and a small sack tucked under one arm. Booth narrowed his eyes and tried to get a better look at the sack. The punk's sweatshirt was blocking most of his view. The taller one quickly slammed the door to the shed.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

"Calm the hell down, Brian," the short one said. "We've got it, now we can get rid of it and no one will ever know."

He smiled smoothly and tossed the sack in the air, catching it with one hand. In that one toss, Booth caught the shape. It was small and rounded. _About the size of a human skull…_

"Stop right there," Booth stepped out of the shadows of the bleachers, gun raised, voice commanding.

The teens stopped in their tracks, looking as though they'd nearly jumped out of their skin. The taller one appeared to be fighting a strong flight response, while the shorter one was frozen to the ground. Booth approached them slowly.

"Toss me the bag, then lay down on the ground with your hands behind your head," Booth told them.

The shorter teen did as he was told, dropping the shovel and following his friend down to the ground.

"Look man, we didn't do anything, ok?" the taller one squeaked, his voice slightly muffled as he faced the ground.

"Shut up and stay still," Booth barked, keeping his gun trained on them while he loosened the sack with his free hand. The canvas fell away and he looked down. In his hand was a round Tupperware container. _What the hell…?_ Holding the container with his free hand, he popped the lid off using the butt of his gun. He held the container a few inches from his face in took a small whiff. "Aw, come on…" he groaned.

"It's not ours, man, we were just holding it for a friend," the shorter teen insisted.

Not even wanting to dignify the statement with a response, Booth placed the lid back on the container of marijuana and put his gun back in its holster.

"Get dragged up here to Nowheresville USA for a murder investigation and I wind up busting punk teenagers for drug possession. Freakin' unbelievable."

Just as he was about to haul the two off to the sheriff's office, his cell phone rang. Without even looking, he flipped it open, motioning for the teens to stay put.

"Booth."

"Hey…"

His heart skipped a beat and he inwardly cursed at the reaction he had to her voice.

"Hey," he said, hoping that his voice sounded normal.

"I'm… sorry I didn't get back to you sooner… busy day," she said.

"Oh, no worries," he told her.

"It's a murder investigation, Booth," she reminded him. "It could very well be something to worry about."

"Right, yeah, I know," Booth said quickly. "I just meant… look, it's fine, okay? And actually, I'm going to need to call you back."

He looked down at the two teens who were trying to appear as small as possible.

"Oh… okay," Brennan said, sounding surprised. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bones," he started, but she had already hung up. He looked down at the screen to verify that the call hand indeed ended and then slammed it shut and shoved the phone in his pocket. _That's just great, _he thought. He stalked over to the boys. "All right, guys, up! Let's go pay a visit to the sheriff's office."


	7. Chapter 7

**Your reviews are awesome, guys – exactly what I need for motivation to update quickly! THANKS!**

* * *

"How long has she been in there?"

Angela looked over as Cam ascended the steps to the platform, her gaze fixed in the direction of Brennan's office. The artist stepped away from the computer monitor where she had been studying the images of the crime scene that Booth had beamed over and turned to face her boss.

"About an hour," she informed Cam, her face concerned. "Just walked right in and shut herself away."

"If she's not out in another ten minutes, we've got to send in reinforcements," Cam said as she grabbed her lab coat from the back of a chair and shrugged it on.

"Reinforcements would imply that we've already sent in a round of troops," Hodgins chimed in from his station. Cam glanced over at him.

"Thank you for that clarification, Dr. Hodgins," she said wryly.

"She's just stressed out," Angela said. "I think she needs some time."

"If she needs time, she can take it… at home," Cam said pointedly. "But she's here, and we have a killer to catch."

"Which we could catch faster if Brennan was actually out there _with_ Booth," Angela said with slight irritation. She grabbed a pencil from her desk and began twirling it between her fingers. "I can't believe the FBI is making her stay here."

"It does seem rather counterproductive," Hodgins agreed, sliding another sample under his microscope.

"Regardless, we have to deal with the decisions that were made. As always, we'll do the best we can," Cam made a valiant attempt at a pep talk. She walked over to the rail that overlooked Hodgins' workstation. "What did you find in the soil samples?"

Hodgins perked up at the question, standing up eagerly and grabbing a few Petri dishes from his desk and joining the two women on the platform. He placed two of the dishes down and held the remaining one up to be viewed by Cam.

"This contains samples from the ground where the body was found," he said, his voice excited. "Huge traces of coal and oil, very typical of the region. The soil is rich in minerals from the lake, which is why it has made the area prime location for quarries, oil drills, etcetera."

"Distinctive markers, I get it," Cam said. "So the victim was killed on the spot?"

"So far, seems like it," he agreed. He placed the dish down and picked up the other two. "However, there were a few concentrated spots that contained two very interesting samples."

He grinned as he said it, drawing out the last few words to create suspense. Cam raised her eyebrows.

"Do I have to play twenty questions?" she asked. Angela smirked as Hodgins enjoyed his momentary power.

"Silica tetrahedral," he announced, flourishing the dish in his right hand like a magician presenting a trick.

"Which is…" Cam narrowed her eyes and looked closely at the dish.

"Quartz," Angela said, stepping closer and examining the slightly shimmering substance. Hodgins looked up at her, surprised. "I used to make gemstone jewelry to earn extra money."

"So how is this significant?" Cam asked.

"Normally, the presence of quartz in the soil in this area would not be significant," Hodgins explained. "In this case, though, it's the _condition_ that's unique. It's crushed -- pulverized."

Cam and Angela both looked at him with curiosity.

"That shouldn't happen naturally," Cam posited.

"About ninety eight percent of the time, no," he said, looking down at the mineral in concentration. "Not sure what it means, yet, but it's definitely weird."

"And the second fun fact of the day?" Cam indicated the other sample.

"Ah, now this is where it gets interesting," Hodgins said, raising the other hand. "Breathe in the essence of class… this, my friends, is Prada."

"I beg your pardon?" Cam raised an eyebrow.

"That reminds me, I should check out their fall catalogue," Angela said.

"Cute boots on page thirty," Cam informed her. Hodgins watched the exchange in disbelief.

"Hello," he interrupted. The two snapped their attention back to him, apologetic looks on their faces. "As I was saying, the soil in this sample contained traces of leather that had been processed. Fortunately, manufacturing holds a bit of a blue print and I was able to trace the chemicals used."

Hodgins walked over to one of the monitors and punched in a code to access his files. A photo popped up from the Prada website displaying a pair of black leather pumps.

"Wow, nice," Angela commented.

"And also completely out of the price range for most of the people living in a mining town of eight hundred," Cam guessed.

"At twenty five hundred dollars a pop, I'm gonna have to agree with that," Hodgins said.

"So our victim is probably not local," Cam surmised, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do we have a list of missing persons to work against?" Angela asked.

"Booth said he would send one over today. Hopefully it'll arrive at the same time as the body," Cam informed them.

"Let me know as soon as it gets here," Angela told her, walking back to her station to continue her study of the crime scene images. "I can start working on a sketch of the victim."

"That's going to be a little difficult."

All three turned to face the stairs leading up to the platform at the sound of Brennan's voice. She had donned her lab coat and her face was supremely calm and concentrated. The chirp of the sensor being deactivated broke the silence as she swiped her card and climbed the stairs.

"I just received the images of the body from the morgue in Horner," she told them. "The skull is missing. Detached at the C-4 vertebra."

"Oh my," Angela cringed. "Decapitated?"

"I don't want to jump to any conclusions until I can examine the remains," Brennan said.

Cam's cell phone ringing interrupted the discussion. Pulling the phone out of her pocket, Cam glanced at the caller ID and scrunched her face. She answered it reluctantly.

"Cam," she said, stepping away from the others as Brennan loaded the photos of the victim and they gathered around to examine them. "Yeah, I know… I know the appointment was for this morning, but we've had a murder investigation… Oh? How fortunate… you've got an extra hour this afternoon."

By this time, the others had begun to listen in on her conversation, watching her while trying to appear absorbed in their work.

"Great, fantastic," she continued, sounding far from excited. "I'll be there in half an hour."

She shut her phone and placed it back in her pocket, turning just in time to see the other three look quickly back to the screen in front of them. She sighed in defeat.

"None of you are good at that," she informed them. Caught, the three looked over at her. "I have complete faith that you'll carry on just fine without me for the rest of the day… I get to go to therapy…"


	8. Chapter 8

**It's been a while, I know, I suck, but my hard drive crashed. You can flog me later. Meanwhile, enjoy the next installment!**

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The waiting room was empty, and therefore much too quiet for Cam's liking. The analog clock on the wall ticked away, somehow reminding her of being in school on a test day. Whoever stocked Sweets' magazine collection in his office was doing a terrible job. Cam had searched through several copies of _Bait & Tackle, Modern Bride,_ and an obscene number of _Highlights_ before she finally settled on _Backyard B-B-Q's_, aimed at preparing the reader for throwing fabulous summer shindigs.

Finally, in the middle of learning how to create a winning beef kabob, Cam heard the door to Sweets' office open. The young therapist poked his head out and gave her a smile.

"Are you ready, Dr. Saroyan?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Cam replied, swallowing her pride and standing up to follow Sweets.

When she had settled onto the couch, she looked up to meet his eyes, doing her best not to show how uncomfortable she was. As much as she would hate to seem in competition with Brennan, Cam felt that she was far more likely than the anthropologist to appear nervous when shut away in this space. Brennan, while firmly skeptical of psychology, maintained an air of confidence when it came to the therapy sessions. Cam did not quite have that courage.

"No note taking today?" she inquired, her eyes falling on his empty hands.

Sweets shook his head. "Not today. No need."

"Okay then," Cam smiled, clasping her hands and setting them in her lap, preparing to face to questioning that was to follow.

"How have you been doing?" Sweets asked her, his voice concerned and his face solemn.

"Fine," Cam shrugged. "Good enough. Pushing through, I guess you could say."

"Hm," Sweets nodded, managing to look both curious and noncommittal at the same time. He sat back in his chair, relaxing his posture. "Would you say that having the work around you helps you to cope with everything?"

Cam considered his question for a moment.

"I'm glad to have the work," she told him. "It's nice to have something to focus on."

"As a distraction? To escape?"

"I… I don't really know," Cam said, her brow lowering as she thought. She certainly had not been avoiding thoughts about Zack. In fact, she thought about him quite often, frequently finding herself wiping away a few tears when her mind lingered too long on the young scientist. But was the work keeping her from dealing with any lingering issues? "I haven't been making a conscious effort… either way, I suppose."

"Your days aren't any longer than before Zack's arrest? No sudden increase in overtime?"

"No," Cam assured him. "Not any more than a case would require."

Sweets dropped his gaze for a moment before looking at her again, weighing his words carefully.

"Any other changes? Resorting to _any_ other ways of coping?"

Realization dawned on Cam's face and her mouth set firmly, her eyes losing the nervous alertness they had shown only a moment before.

"Clearly, you've done your research," she said, her voice lowering. Sweets merely looked at her, waiting. Cam sighed, looking at her hands still folded in her lap. "No. I haven't had anything more than a social drink in over eight years."

"That's good to hear," Sweets commended her. "You're not falling back into old habits, your work ethic is still strong, but not consuming every moment of your life… so why, Dr. Saroyan, do you still look like a family member has died?"

Cam sucked in a deep breath, trying not to focus too hard on the subject of Zack. If she did, she would lose control on the spot. Granted, that was sort of the point of the therapy, but she was not sure she was ready to fall apart in front of Sweets.

"What happened to Zack was a tragedy," Cam explained, straining to keep her voice even. "We were all affected deeply. It still hurts."

"I remember you saying that he deserved the punishment he was receiving… that he was an adult and had made his decision," Sweets quietly prompted her, hoping to coax the response he was looking for. "You've outwardly shown little sympathy for the consequences to his actions, yet it has clearly hit you very hard."

Cam's lower lip trembled ever so slightly, her eyes growing moist with tears that were gathering. Her resolve was crumbling quickly. She was learning that however much they teased Sweets about being young and green, there was a reason he was working for the FBI at the age of twenty-three. When he wanted to, he could be a powerful force.

"Um," she started, not very strongly, her voice weak. "I'm sure you probably already know this, but, uh… my brother… he was arrested about ten years ago."

Sweets carefully studied her, seeing the side of her that desperately wanted to release this history. "What happened?" he asked gently. She did not respond right away, looking up and away from him as she wiped at her eyes. "This is a safe space, Cam. There is no judgment. You can tell me."

"Collin got into drugs when he was in college," she said, sounding as though she wanted to tell the story as quickly as possible, not wanting to dwell on it for very long. "He threw away a chance at medical school at some of the best grad programs in the country. He got desperate. No matter how much anyone in the family tried to pull him in the right direction, he just fell right back. I guess, um, one night he was part of a group that was doing a pick up. Whoever it was that was supposed to meet them didn't deliver what they wanted, and the guy wound up dead. The police only caught two people – one of them was Collin," Cam paused, her gaze far away from the office. "They could never prove who actually committed the murder… so they put them both away."

"As a cop, it must have been hard for you to see that happen. Your sense of justice must have been a burden at that time."

"It was painful, it felt wrong… to feel so strongly that my brother should be put in jail…"

"Dr. Saroyan," Sweets began, his voice full of empathy. "What happened to your brother was not your fault. You and your family did everything you could - "

"But what if it wasn't enough?" Cam demanded. "If we had just supported him more, gotten him help… "

"You did everything you could," Sweets insisted again. "You can't blame yourself. And you can't blame yourself for what happened to Zack. In a way, you're right about him. About both of them. They were adults, and they made their decisions, despite the most loving and supportive families."

"So what are you saying, that some people are just destined to become criminals no matter what?"

"No," he replied. "I'm saying that you can only do so much influence another person. It's next to impossible to change someone if they are unwilling to accept the help."

Cam let out a wry laugh. She reached for one of the Kleenex sitting on the end table and dabbed at her eyes and under her nose.

"Zack was so much like him. _Is_ so much like him," she said softly. "So smart, so very smart. And just… sweet. Collin was still just a sweetheart, even when he was neck deep in trouble. They were both too smart for what happened to them."

"Their logic was faulty," Sweets told her gently.

"I know," she said, her voice breaking and the tears finally flowing freely. "But that doesn't make it any easier."


	9. Chapter 9

Brennan stared listlessly at the screen of her computer. A black and white picture of Paris that acted as her desktop stared right back, providing the only light in her office. It was well after eight at night. Everyone else in the Jeffersonian had gone home several hours ago. The lab was unusually quiet, even for this time of night. The night crew had not yet entered the Medico-Legal Lab. She was utterly alone.

Her mind vaguely registered that the sink in her office bathroom was dripping. The steady tap of the water droplets hitting the porcelain seemed to work in tandem with her heartbeat. It had an oddly calming effect.

She couldn't even remember the last thing she had accomplished on her computer, or why she was still staring at it after all this time. There was no unfinished business that was keeping her there, no driving mystery that she couldn't let wait until morning. The murder victim's body had been delivered late that afternoon, and along with it thoughts of Booth off solving the case without her. Brennan and her team had spent the rest of the day gathering what they could from the body, studying it, identifying, and labeling. In a matter of hours, the dead woman's life had been categorized and marked with white tape and a sharpie.

Now all that remained was an identity. Without the head, Brennan worried that it might be difficult to accomplish. However, they were lucky in that enough blood and tissue remained to extract DNA to run against the national database. By nine am tomorrow, they would have a name. Unless, of course, she wasn't registered. In which case they had their work cut out for them.

Nothing they hadn't encountered before.

Outside, she heard the distant rumble of thunder. The summer storm that had been predicted on the news seemed to be making an appearance, and she was grateful. Hopefully the much-needed rain would clear some of the intense humidity from the air. The summer had been unbearably humid, the worst in her memory. Or maybe it only seemed that way.

Out of the corner of her eye, Brennan saw the display on her cell phone light up. Without even reading the name, she knew it was him. Swallowing, she reached out and flipped the phone open.

"Brennan," she answered out of habit.

"Bones," his voice came over the line warm and familiar. "Looks like we cleared everything from the crime scene just in time. It's raining cats and dogs up here."

Brennan smiled in spite of herself.

"You know I don't like that phrase," she said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Booth said. "What would you prefer?"

"You could just say there's high precipitation," she offered.

"Well that's just… that's, y'know, that's no fun at all, Bones."

She could hear him smiling on the other end, amused by yet another one of her quirks. She wasn't sure when it had started, but at some point he had stopped looking at her with a blank look on his face when she rattled off the logical and scientific side of any situation. Recently, the look had been replaced with a lopsided smile and a knowing quirk of his eyebrows.

"So I'm guessing you didn't just call to discuss the weather," she said, leaning back in her chair and settling in to talk about the case.

"No," he replied. "You got anything for me to go on so that I can narrow down my questioning? I'm getting tired of the same old, 'Gee, Agent Booth, we don't know a thing. Horner's such a quiet little town, can't imagine a murderer living here.'"

Brennan frowned at his slightly insulting imitation of small town America, but let it slide for the moment. Reaching for the mouse, she clicked open a few files on her computer so that she could catch him up on what they had.

"Female, late twenties, Caucasian, about five feet seven inches tall," she told him, re-examining her notes. "The skull was severed crudely, mostly likely with a manually powered instrument. I have an assistant working on identifying the exact tool used. Hodgins found pulverized quartz and traces of leather from the soil samples taken from the scene."

"Is that important?"

"He seems to think so, and I tend to trust him on these things."

"He is rather smart," Booth deadpanned. "Any ID yet?"

"We should know first thing in the morning," she said. "As soon as I have that, I'll give you a call."

"Good."

With the business out of the way, their conversation fell into silence, neither one making a move to hang up. Once again, Brennan heard the tapping of water in the sink. Tap. Tap. Like a metronome. Her heart was not keeping time, rushing the beat. The potential of the silence made her nervous. She knew that anything could come out of that silence, and she was not entirely prepared for the answers that she may have to provide. Part of her wanted so badly to say the things he must be wanting to hear, and another part, a stronger part, was telling her that in order to survive, those words needed to be tucked away and forgotten.

_I should say goodbye_, she thought. _Just hang up while I can. Before…_

"Look, Temperance…"

"Don't, Booth," she stopped him. She could almost see his face, surprise and hurt written so clearly. "Not this way."

"Over the phone?"

He sounded like he was trying to make a joke. Mostly, he just sounded confused.

"No, I mean…I don't know what I mean," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Can't we just say for now that it was something that happened, and we can cross the bridge when we come to it?"

"Bones," Booth started firmly. "I hate to break it to you, but the bridge has already been crossed. Not just crossed. We ran over that bridge. _Bolted_. And now we're… standing on the other side. So… what do we do?"

"We moved on from Christmas just fine."

It was statements like those that had made Brennan nervous about the prolonged phone conversation in the first place. She just did not do tactful, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Is that what you want to do?" Booth asked quietly after a moment. "Move on?"

_No. I want time to think. I want you to not be asking me this right this very moment._

"Don't you think that's best?"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Whatever you want, Bones."

Click.

Her hand seemed frozen, unable to pull the phone away from her ear. She stared at the computer screen and was surprised to find it slightly fuzzy. _That's odd_. It wasn't until she heard the offbeat drip of water that she realized why. Tugging her sleeve down around her knuckles, she slowly swept her fist across the desk and wiped away the tear that had fallen.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: So guys, I have been dealing with a LOT of shite that has unfortunately been keeping me from my stories. Sorry it has taken me sooooo long to update, I hope not everyone has lost interest. I promise to be back on top of things from now on. Thanks for the support, as always! Happy reading!**

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"You're quiet Tempe. What's got you so far away?"

Brennan looked up at her father over the table at the diner. It was Friday, their agreed upon day to meet, have lunch, reconnect and rebuild. When it first started, she had been reluctant to put too much stock in the ritual. Years of disappointed hopes had taught her not to expect very much from him. In the weeks since his trial, though, he had been unfailingly strict about meeting with her every week, not even letting her excuses of investigations deter them from at least meeting for a cup of coffee.

"It's nothing, Dad," she said, spearing another leaf from her salad. "Just a case. It's been on my mind."

"That the one your FBI man is tackling all by himself?" Max asked, eyeing his daughter carefully.

"Technically. I'm still on the case," Brennan said. "I'm just not out there with him."

"You miss him?"

"Dad!" she looked up in surprise. "What kind of a question is that?"

Max smiled and laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he did so.

"That's the same look you used to give me when you were twelve and you had a crush on a boy that you didn't want anyone to know about."

"Dad," Brennan began in a warning tone.

"Oh, same tone of voice too."

"Dad, seriously."

"I am being serious, Tempe," Max smiled at her and popped a fry into his mouth. "If not Booth, who? I haven't heard anything about a boyfriend lately."

"That's because there isn't one," Brennan muttered, looking down at her plate as she pointlessly poked at her food. It was pretty hard to hide anything from her own father, but she had barely decided how she felt about Booth. Aside from the strong feelings of wanting to feel his hands underneath her shirt again. Again, confusing and most likely irrelevant.

"Not for lack of trying, I'm guessing," Max guessed.

"Dad," she sighed, finally putting her fork down. "I don't… exactly do well with… long term relationships. So no. I haven't been trying. I don't think it's really meant to happen for me."

After a few moments of silence, Brennan looked up to find her father studying her intently.

"Tempe, don't think things like that. Don't sell yourself short. Love will find you, and you'll know it when it happens."

"Statements like that are a cultural platitude, I've never felt anything remotely - "

"All that proves, champ, is that you haven't found it yet," Max leaned forward, keeping eye contact with his daughter. "But you'll know, you will. I did, with your mom. When you come home from a hard day and nothing has been going right, and you walk into the bedroom and see that person lying there… and you can lie down next to them, put your arm around them and have them tighten onto you in their sleep and know that everything is going to be okay… then you'll know."

Speechless, Brennan stared at him as he smiled and nodded, then popped another fry into his mouth, leaned back in his chair, and clapped his hands together.

"So! What's the case about?"

"Uh," she collected herself as quickly as she could. "A body was found on a construction site in West Virginia. We're supposed to get an identity from the DNA today. In fact, I may have to cut our meal short if I hear anything."

"No other way to identify the victim?" Max inquired, his interest piqued.

"No. Her head is missing," she told him. It felt odd discussing a case with her father. She wondered what kind of insights he might have to offer.

"Pleasant," he scrunched his face. Brennan raised her eyebrows.

"As opposed to what you've been known to do," she shot at him.

"Honey, don't confuse me with the sickos out there that commit these crimes because they don't have the strength to handle tiffs any other way," Max said quickly. "I did those things to protect you and Russ. Don't you forget that."

"You've said that over and over again, Dad, but that doesn't make it right," she said firmly. "It doesn't completely rationalize it."

"Wouldn't you have done the same thing? If it was Booth, or Angela, wouldn't you have found the rationality?"

Once again, Brennan's mind took her back to that night at the Karaoke bar. Booth collapsing at her feet, blood rushing from his body. The heavy feel of the gun in her hand as she took aim and squeezed the trigger without a thought or moment of remorse. Slowly, she realized her father was still talking.

"… bet you fifty dollars this was crime of passion," he finished, grabbing the last bit of his tuna melt and gulping it down.

"Booth doesn't think it's a good idea for me to gamble," she replied dully. Max chuckled. Brennan's cell phone chirped inside her purse and she nearly lunged for it. "Brennan. Yeah. Ok, I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Let me guess – duty calls?" Max raised his eyebrows expectantly. She nodded, pulling her lips into an apologetic smile. "My daughter the crime fighter. Go get 'em, tiger."

* * *

"What have you got, Angela?" Brennan asked, pulling her blue lab coat on as she stepped onto the platform.

Angela met her friend at the station nearest the steps and pulled up the results she had received.

"The DNA samples we took matched the National Data Base for Michelle Roult," she said, expanding an image of a redheaded thirty-something in a corporate suit. "She was reported missing from work about a week ago… her office was in New York City."

"So then what was she doing in Horner?" Brennan asked.

"Are you ready for this?" Angela looked at her, then double clicked on an attachment. Michelle Roult's employment history popped up. "She was an architect. Designed custom vacation homes for the wealthy. She was in charge of the site in Horner."

"Why would someone want her dead?" Brennan voiced the obvious question, staring at the information in front of her.

"Apparently, there are some people in Horner who were not very happy about the million dollar mansions going up in the neighborhood," Angela said as she handed Brennan a file.

She opened it to find photos of picketers and defacement of the construction site near the lake. This investigation was not looking good for the residents of Horner.

"Have you sent this information to Booth yet?" she asked.

"No, I figured you would probably want to. Have the opportunity to discuss things," Angela said.

"Right," Brennan agreed, a little too brightly. "Right, of course."

_Oh joy, another fun phone conversation. Because this isn't fun enough._


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Also, just to put things into perspective, because it can get confusing when a fic overlaps a new season, for the sake of this story it is still assumed that Zack killed the Senator (even though we all knew he wasn't really capable of it and I was falling off my couch excited when the truth was revealed in Purple Pieces)**

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Brennan knew that by dashing away from Angela, she was creating more questions for her best friend to ask about her behavior, but at the moment she was not too concerned. Eventually, the artist would corner her and hound her about her recent habit of disappearing into her office whenever the subject of Booth or therapy came up. Brennan could deal with that when the time came, and she planned on delaying that moment for as long as possible.

She wished she could say the same for calling her partner. This was exactly why she happened to agree with Booth's line and why she wanted to just put what had occurred between them in the past. It was making their working relationship insanely awkward. Not that it wasn't already awkward. How many times had he been inches away from her mouth, toeing that line, causing feelings to surface that she would rather ignore?

As she mounted the stairs to her office, she forced those thoughts from her mind. It would do no good to let the part of her that was tempted by that line to have any kind of control while she talked to him. She whipped out her phone as she entered her office, but stopped mid dial when she was met by the sight of Sweets curiously poking a finger at the mummy in the corner. He jumped back when he heard her enter, sheepishly shoving his hands into his pockets.

"My appointment isn't until later this afternoon," she said immediately, not liking the fact that he was in her space.

"I know," Sweets said, stepping away from the mummy and towards her.

"So why are you here?" she asked suspiciously, evasively heading towards her desk where she deposited the case file and her phone.

"Well, I've noticed that when you and Agent Booth are involved in a case, your sessions tend to take a back seat," he explained, making himself comfortable in the chair opposite her desk. "And when I heard that you had discovered the identity of the victim, I figured I would try to fit in an early meeting before you got distracted and backed out of coming in to my office"

Brennan stared at him in disbelief.

"I also wanted to swing by to see if you have had any luck hiring a new intern to replace Zack," he added, not exactly brightly, but not tactfully either.

"Uh, I've been trying out a few," she answered, trying to get her mind to play catch up with this sudden intrusion on her thought process. "It's not that easy to replace Zack."

"I would imagine. He was a unique individual," Sweets said sympathetically. Brennan stared at him for a moment.

"If this is the day you picked to find out how I'm dealing with Zack, I'll give you the answers," she said honestly. "I hate not having him around. No one I find is anywhere near as good in the lab. Do I wish he'd never become involved with Gormagon? Of course. Intellectually, I understand why he made the choice he did. He was doing what he believed would benefit humanity as a whole."

"By being the epitome of rational and compartmentalized," Sweets offered. Brennan took a deep breath through her nose and held it for a moment. She knew exactly where he was going with this.

"In my father's trial, I was accused of possessing enough detached rationality to kill without remorse. In the end, it saved Max from a death sentence… proving that there was the possibility that someone else could have committed that murder. There was reasonable doubt, and the prosecution's case fell apart. I'm glad my father escaped that sentence," Brennan looked down at her hands and paused. "But I was not satisfied with the accusation."

These were the moments Sweets was glad to have Brennan alone and off her game, away from Booth and their 'thick as thieves' partnership. He never knew what would trigger the stream of consciousness answers, but had found that when he got her going, she would give him straightforward answers. Ones that he could use to get her back in the field with Booth.

"You don't agree with being detached enough to murder for the greater good," Sweets prodded just a little more. Brennan's mouth tightened and she blinked.

"No."

He almost asked her if she faulted Zack for doing what he did, almost asked her if she thought of him differently in light of what had happened, but the look on her face stopped him. He already knew the answers to those questions. She was hurting, and she was processing in the only way she knew how. She was categorizing Zack's actions the same way she categorized information on a case. She was coping, and that was enough of an answer for him.

"And Pam Nunan?"

The silence that followed the question was uncomfortably heavy. Brennan reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding his eyes.

"She was an immediate threat. I don't regret what I did."

"You could have shot her shoulder, or her leg," Sweets said, watching her face intently. "Disabled her until someone else could disarm her. But you took a killing shot."

Brennan's eyelids fluttered, her eyes moistening for what seemed like the thousandth time as she thought about that night.

"I barely remember doing it," she admitted softly. "All I remember is the look on Booth's face. The life slipping from his eyes. I've killed before, and I'm fine with the actions I had to take."

"In revenge - "

"No," she cut him off sharply. "She was a threat. She had her first target intercepted and I couldn't risk… the room was filled with people and I had a split second to make a choice. I did what I had to in order to prevent anyone else from getting hurt."

_Sacrificing one for the greater good_, a voice in her mind said.

"I'm not a killer," she said firmly, fighting back tears, not sure if it was Sweets or herself that she was convincing. "I would never hurt an innocent person. People I care about were in danger. I was protecting them."

After a moment of silence, she looked up to meet Sweets' eyes. She was surprised to find them bright with moisture, though he had a slight smile on his face.

"This is good, Dr. Brennan," he praised her. "I know this has been painful for you to discuss, but it's important. And I'm proud of the progress you're making."

"Oh," she said, slightly shocked. She recovered quickly, though, and her next statement was hardly a surprise to Sweets. "Does this mean I'm okay to go back into the field?"

"Not quite," Sweets answered. "There are still a few things I want to discuss."

Brennan visibly deflated at his words. A second later, she nearly jumped out of her seat as her cell phone danced on her desk. She forgot that she had set it to vibrate, and the noise was jarring. Grabbing it quickly, she glanced down at the display.

"It's Booth," she informed him. Sweets smiled.

"Of course it is. I'll see you next week," he said, rising from the chair and taking his leave from her office.

"Brennan," she answered her phone, knowing the professional display would most likely annoy him.

"I hope you don't have any plans for this weekend, Bones," he stated without a hitch.

"Why?"

"Because we've got another body."


	12. Chapter 12

**1. Thank you sooo much for the reviews!! Always a pleasure to read.**

**2. I'm going to take this moment to shamelessly plug the story I am co-authoring with NCCJFAN entitled "Vatican Murders." Check it out! It's good times, I promise!**

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"Another victim?" Brennan asked, momentarily setting the emotions of the last ten minutes away.

"Yup," Booth confirmed. She could hear noise in the background, voices shouting orders and car doors being slammed. She itched to be a part of the scene. "Got a call from the sheriff this morning. Construction crews had resumed work early today after they got the all clear from police, and not twenty minutes into digging they found another body."

"What state of decomp?"

"Your favorite kind – skeletal," Booth said, raising his voice as a siren blared, then died away. "Any luck on identifying the first victim?"

"Michelle Roult, thirty-two, from New York," Brennan told him. "She was in charge of the construction site. I'll send all the information to the station out there. Also, Angela found out that some of the residents had been protesting the building near the lake."

"Typical. They want to keep their small town small and quaint," he said. She heard someone shout nearby, and then Booth's voice muffled in response, most likely by his hand over the cell. "No, the body does _not_ go through the coroner, it goes straight to the Jeffersonian! If I hear of anyone touching it before it gets there, they get fired! Sorry, Bones. Working with a bunch of Barney Fifes up here."

"I don't know what that means, but I appreciate you keeping the remains from being compromised."

"It means I miss… your expertise. And you're welcome," Booth said softly. She smiled at his words. "I could really use you out here. I…"

"I know," she tried to reassure him. And there it was again – the awkward silence they were finding themselves in so often. Her mind suddenly raced with the things she wanted to tell him, the things she had been feeling. Damn Sweets and his ability to make her think about the emotions she had carefully tucked away. If only she could see him, talk to him in person. This telephone situation was getting ridiculous. "Booth," she began hesitantly. "Are we… are we okay?"

"We're always okay, Temperance."

She could almost see his smile as he spoke, and the thought sent a wave of warmth through her. She didn't know if now was the time or if she could even put it in the right words, but she was suddenly gripped by the need to tell him how important their connection was.

"I want to be able to do what we've always done, Booth," she told him, taking Sweets' advice and revealing why she had agreed to the Bureau's version of a time-out. "What we do is important. I want to get back to that. And I…"

"I know," he echoed her earlier response, but with a touch more sadness to his voice. Brennan felt a pang in her chest, knowing that she was hurting him even as she tried to reassure him of her commitment to their partnership. "I've gotta go, Bones. I'll have them send the remains before the end of the day."

"Thanks, Booth," she said, hoping her heard the meaning in her voice and knew that she didn't just mean for sending the remains.

As she hung up the phone, she came to the conclusion that she was thoroughly confused. Several days' separation from the night Booth had kissed her had put a sobering effect on the event. While a strong part of her relished the feelings that came along with the knowledge of his apparent desire for her, a stronger part knew that a sexual relationship could only result in pain for them, in one form or another. If things soured between them, it would cost them their partnership. If they became too focused on each other, it could result in carelessness with cases and possibly endanger innocent lives. It could provide the killers they hunted with too much leverage, as had been proven when Cam was poisoned while involved with Booth.

She assumed they had reached some sort of truce just now, but she couldn't be sure. As was usual with them, she sometimes read his emotions wrong. There was no doubt that he seemed disappointed with the way things were going, but she needed to know if there was more to it than just the kiss and her brilliant mind was not calculating the answer. She needed a second opinion.

Leaping out of her chair, she headed down to Angela's office. Finding the door open and her friend seated at her desk working on a composite, she entered without knocking.

"Ange," she said with determination. "Do you have a minute?"

* * *

It would have been wonderful to not be in the middle of a very busy crime scene in the mountains. In fact, it would have been ideal to be holed up in his hotel room with no distractions. Scratch that. Ideally, she would have been there so he could talk to her in person. But when had life ever cut him that sort of a break with Temperance Brennan? Why start cursing the fates now?

After he had hung up with her, he had spent twenty minutes explaining to the coroner's team why exactly the remains needed to be express shipped to the Jeffersonian and not kept in Horner for a minute longer than was needed. The next half hour had been spent overseeing the collection of soil near where the body was buried and making sure that the investigative unit gathered what Hodgins would consider a satisfying sample.

He was beginning to realize that he had spent _way _too much time with the squints.

Sighing audibly and hoping that he would get to head back into town soon, Booth turned when he heard a car approaching the scene. The silver BMW came to a stop just on the other side of the yellow police tape and a polished man in his early thirties hopped out.

"Can I help you?" Booth barked out as he headed over.

"My name is Jon Jackson, I'm the business owner of Dream Homes," the man said, reaching into his wallet and extracting an ID and business card for Booth. "Our company is the one that bought this land and started building. Is it true that Michelle is dead?"

"Sir, I'm not really at liberty to discuss the situation until we have more information," Booth said tiredly.

"C'mon, man, I know it's her," Jon insisted, his voice showing hints of panic.

"How's that?" Booth asked, curious.

"She was the lead architect on this project. She's been missing for almost two weeks. I know Michelle, she checks in every day to the office in New York," Jon told him. "She doesn't just disappear in the middle of a project."

"Were you the one that reported her missing?"

"No. No, it was her assistant. I should have…" Jon paused, swallowing hard as emotion gripped him. "I was caught up in another site and kinda lost contact with her for a few days. I should've noticed."

Booth nodded, sympathizing with the man's distress. "Sir, I have to ask… have you noticed anyone else missing form your company?"

Jon took a deep breath and visibly pulled himself together.

"No. But I'll be paying closer attention, believe me. I can't believe… If you need _anything_, any information on her or the company, call me, please," he said, turning and heading towards the car. "Just catch the son of a bitch who did this to her."

Booth watched as Jon got in the car, slamming the door behind him. He took off in a whirlwind of dust. Booth quickly filed the encounter in his mind. The man had appeared sincere in his grief, but he knew better than to accept that as evidence of innocence. Before he could think further on it, a nearby officer called out to him.

"Agent Booth! We've got what we need. We can start packing it in for the day."

_Thank God_, Booth thought. He fully intended to make a beeline for the local diner in town to be alone with his thoughts plus a beer and a cheeseburger. Without Bones to bounce ideas off of, he was finding it necessary to think things over by himself for longer periods of time – quite similar to how he worked before becoming partners with her.

He caught a ride back with some lackey from the coroner's office and was dropped off near the police station where he picked up the new information that Bones had promised to send out. As he made his way down the street to the diner, he found himself engrossed in the reports of the protests. The vandalism to the construction site had been extensive and destructive. It was a bit of a leap to say that anyone who could do that was also capable of murdering the lead architect, but he had seen stranger things.

One manly cheeseburger and a twenty-ounce glass of Stella later had him feeling much better, if not perfectly satisfied. Out of habit, he kept looking up to the other side of the table expecting to see her there and ready to discuss theories. Each page he looked at made him wonder what her opinion would be. Mentally scolding himself for thinking too much about her and not enough about the case, he started in on an article about some of the most recent protests done by a few of the locals – the owner of the feed supply store, the local historical society (not surprising, but too nerdy in their motives), and an independent business owner who had a hand-crafted jewelry shop specializing in semi-precious stones… amethyst, jade, quartz…

_Quartz_.

"_Hodgins found pulverized quartz."_ Her voice popped into his mind unsummoned.

Out of curiosity, Booth noted the address of the shop and quickly charted the town in his mind. "That would place it right about…" he muttered under his breath and looked out the window and across the street. "There."

* * *

Brennan was beginning to wonder whether she had actually spoken out loud. Angela had remained still as a stone, simply staring at her from the other end of the couch.

"Ange," Brennan waved a hand in front of the artist's face. "Did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, Bren, I must've dosed off for a minute. Because I'm pretty sure the only way I would ever hear those words would be in a dream."

Brennan scrunched her forehead in confusion.

"You dream about me and Booth?"

Angela narrowed her eyes and looked at her with suspicion. "You're not playing a trick on me, are you? Cause that would just be cruel."

"Why would I do that?"

"So you're saying… in all honesty… that he kissed you. In a non-mistletoe induced kind of way."

"Yes."

"Oh… my… _God_!" Angela exclaimed in pure shock. "He _did_! He kissed you!"

"Who kissed you?"

Both women whipped around to find Cam standing in the doorway, files in hand and sisterhood inspired conspiratorial grin on her face. Brennan opened her mouth only to stammer a few incoherent _uh's_ before finally turning to Angela for support. Her friend merely shrugged with a look of sympathy.

"You might as well tell her, sweetie," she advised. "She's gonna find out anyway."


	13. Chapter 13

**Wow, guys, the feedback was truly, honestly overwhelming. I said I would post on FanFic if it seemed like there was enough interest and it would just be impractical to send out chapters individually, and it's pretty clear that's going to be the case! I was blown away by the feedback and it's helped me to just ignore the negative and focus on all the good! It's been forever since I started the story, I know. It isn't even current anymore. But, for those of you who will continue this Bones journey with me, I thank you and hope you enjoy.**

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The look on Cam's face was not at all what Brennan had been expecting. To Brennan, it almost looked like…

"Are you smiling?" she asked, confused.

"I'm sorry," Cam said, trying her best to remove the urge to laugh from her mind. Brennan looked from Cam to Angela, trying to discern what was going on.

"I don't understand," she said. "Why is it funny?"

"It's not funny, sweetie," Angela assured her.

"It's just completely… not a surprise," Cam added.

"You know _I've_ been rooting for it from the start," Angela reminded her with a knowing look.

"Well, I was absolutely surprised by it!" Brennan exclaimed. "And… I don't know what to do now. It's been so awkward, with him gone, and after everything that's happened…"

"Are you still mad at him, Bren?" Angela asked gently.

"No," Brennan answered after a moment, meeting her friend's eyes. "I thought I would be, for a long time. At first, I couldn't believe what he had done… I was so furious… insulted."

"You had every right to be," Angela said.

"If he had just talked to me, let me know that he was worried instead of trying to decide what's best for me. I have proved myself time and again to be an exemplary employee of the Jeffersonian and the FBI and I'm the best forensic anthropologist in the country. My work speaks for itself."

Angela looked to Cam and gathered her thoughts briefly before diving into what she knew would be dangerous waters.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, considering I was ready to castrate our strapping FBI guy just a few nights ago, but here goes. You are great at what you do, Bren. No one is arguing about that. But… you've experienced so much lately. We were all worried about you. Especially Booth. If they had any reason to believe you might not make the best decisions for your own safety out in the field…"

"In theory, I understand why this happened," Brennan stated firmly. "But I don't feel unstable."

"Well, you know Cullen," Cam sighed, shaking her head. "It's really him you should be pissed at. And Sweets, if you feel like it… he certainly has a knack for using us as experiments."

"How are things going with that, anyway?" Angela finally asked.

Brennan swallowed hard and looked away. She had been so diligent at avoiding this conversation and now she was finally cornered, a feeling she was not at all used to. In science, she was always confident in herself and able to handle any situation. Yet, when it came to matters of the heart and dealing with her feelings, she often felt inadequate, no matter how much she disregarded psychology as an inferior science. It was because of that stance that she was almost pained to open her mouth and tell her friends what had been going through her mind.

"It's not been unhelpful," she admitted quietly, but still retaining the typical air of doubt she had whenever she discussed psychology. "And that's all I have to say about that."

Angela smiled, relieved to hear that Brennan was making some progress with facing her feelings. Well, at least some of them.

"So does that mean you're gonna forgive Booth?" she asked.

"I didn't want to, but I feel like I already have somehow."

"Well you should at least punish him a little longer," Angela smiled, nudging her. "Best intentions or not, he still acted like a stupid Alpha male."

"I think he's already being punished sufficiently," Cam chimed in. "Being forced to work out in the field without you. The guy is probably chewing off his own arm right now."

Brennan couldn't help but feel a little smug at the thought of Booth being helpless without her. It lifted her spirits quite effectively. The feeling was fleeting, though, as she thought about the victims who needed their stories told.

"How did this happen? Why did he do this?" she gave a short laugh. "And why did I let him?"

Angela was at a loss for words for once, but Cam gave Brennan the most sincere look she had ever seen.

"Love makes us do insane things from time to time. I've seen the way Seeley looks at you… he'd do anything to make sure you're okay, even if that means making a mistake from time to time, hoping that you'll see it was done because he cares."

Brennan was stunned, her heart leaping in her chest as the words sunk in. She had come to Angela looking for advice, but had never expected to hear this observation of her relationship with Booth. And her heart was finally speaking, telling her that what she was hearing was the truth.

* * *

Booth considered himself a fairly open minded man. He met a lot of different people in his profession and had come to like many of them despite his initial impressions. As he walked into what he could only describe as a New Age hippie shop, though, he started to feel his blue collar mentality kick in.

The heady aroma of incense hit his nose immediately. A variety of hand crafted wind chimes hung from the ceiling, tinkling lightly from the breeze drifting in through the open door. The walls were painted a brilliant royal blue and on the far wall hung a large bronze metal work of a fantasy sun. To the left of that, a beaded curtain covered a doorway that led to the back of the shop. Along the adjoining walls, wooden display cases housed hand made jewelry. Booth was no expert, but it looked well done and expensive. A quick glance at a price tag confirmed his thought. He was just reaching a hand out to inspect a particularly bejeweled piece when he heard the clanking of the beads from the doorway.

"Can I help you?"

Booth turned to see a woman who appeared to be in her mid forties, her salt and pepper hair hanging loosely down to her waist. She was dressed simply in jeans and a green cotton shirt. The only thing outstanding about her was the multitude of bangles about her wrists and necklaces around her neck, making a metallic noise with each movement.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," he said, holding out his badge and moving towards her.

"I know who you are," she said shortly, putting her hands on her hips and setting off a chorus from her jewelry. "This is a very small town."

"So I've noticed," Booth said, gritting his teeth. "And you would be?"

"Diane Harold," she said with a small smile.

Booth opened a manila folder and pulled out a few pages, holding them up for her to see.

"Look familiar?" he asked. Diane peered at the photocopies of the newspaper articles, her smiled growing ever so slightly.

"Personally I'd described my hair more as a silver shower than a withered horsetail, but what can you do? It's the media," she said as she looked back up at him.

"So you admit that you've been in the middle of these protests."

"Of course I've been in the middle of it," Diane confirmed proudly. "And if you find anyone in this town who denies being involved, even a little bit, they're lying. No one's happy those yuppies are building their dream castles on our lake."

"And you're willing to let them know that, aren't you?"

"Sure am."

"How far would you go?"

Diane regarded him for a moment, her eyes giving away nothing.

"Far enough, Agent Booth."

"Care to elaborate on that."

"No. I wouldn't."

If her smile had been making him uneasy before, then the one she gave him as she said this made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. His intentions when he entered the shop had been based on curiosity and a hunch, but in a few short minutes his instincts were telling him a mere interview was not enough.

"I'm assuming I'm not going to be able to search anything here without a warrant," he said, straining to keep his voice professional.

"No sir, you won't."

Booth nodded, his jaw clenched in irritation.

"You'll be hearing from me soon," he told her curtly, turning on his heel and making his way out of the shop.

As he strode down the street, Booth had to focus on bringing his heart rate down. What was already a trying investigation was truly starting to piss him off. The town seemed to be closing ranks and the evidence was just not adding up yet.

What he needed was someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off of, and without Brennan readily available he only had one choice. He just hoped he would get a straight answer for once. Experience led him to believe he would.

Sheriff Sheridan was seated at his desk going over paperwork when Booth arrived at the small station. A ceiling fan was struggling to keep the muggy room cool and only just barely succeeding while soft tones of country music came out of a radio that looked like it had seen better days. Sheridan looked up as Booth came through the door.

"Agent Booth," he greeted him, standing to shake his hand before motioning for Booth to take a seat opposite him. "How's the investigation going?"

"Could be going better, Sheriff," Booth said, settling into the chair. Sheridan gave him an amused half smile.

"Gettin' a taste of Horner hospitality, eh?"

"You could say that," Booth returned the smile and leaned forward. "Let me ask you, what do you make of the protests that have been happening around here?"

"Well," Sheridan started, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach, "it's been a tricky situation. People aren't happy about those houses goin' up. Trouble is, sometimes the protests turn into some not so subtle intimidation. And it's done carefully… haven't always been able to catch who's done it."

"What about Diane Harold?"

As soon as the name came out of his mouth, Sheridan chuckled and shook his head.

"Ah, Diane," he sighed. "She was born about twenty five years too late. She belongs to the flower generation, really. She gets a rise out of fighting injustice wherever she sees it."

"You don't think she's a threat?"

"I wouldn't put her above some of the vandalism," Sheridan said. "Like I said, it's been hard to pin it on anyone in particular. But do I think she's capable of murder? Nah. Not a chance."

"Hm," Booth turned the information over in his mind and rubbed the back of his neck in a small effort to release some tension. "Bottom line, Sheriff, is that there's evidence that could possibly link her to the crime scene and she's not being terribly cooperative. I'm going to request a warrant to search her business, and I have a feeling it's not going to go over easily."

"It's your investigation, Agent," Sheridan shrugged. "You do what you gotta do, you won't find any resistance in this office."

"Thank you, I appreciate that, sir," Booth stood, gathering his things and holding out his hand which Sheridan shook.

"Good luck, Agent Booth."

Feeling like he had actually made a small amount of progress, Booth headed back to his motel room in a slightly better mood. After tossing the paperwork at the end of the bed, he stripped off his shirt and headed to the bathroom with the intention of taking a long, hot shower. Flipping the light on, he crossed the small space and started a wonderfully inviting stream of water. As he turned to the counter to grab his washcloth and some soap, something caught his eye. His heartbeat spiked as he looked up into the mirror. Written in red across the glass were the words 'Get Out Now!'


	14. Chapter 14

**Who has two thumbs and got so busy she forgot to update? This girl! Thanks for bein' patient.**

If it hadn't been for the fact that the body of the second victim had arrived at the Jeffersonian early in the morning, Brennan would have faced the day without much of a sense of direction. She had gone home the night before in a fog, her mind still reeling from Cam's words. In all the time she had spent pondering what was going on between her and Booth, the word love had never entered her mind. She had placed their kiss and everything else that had been going on into the category of some underlying sexual attraction that had finally surfaced.

That was inevitable, after all. Booth was a fine male specimen and Brennan would always be the first one to agree to that fact. If her past experience with men was any indication she assumed she could be considered an ideal choice, biologically, as well, and if there was one thing biology had taught her it was that the finest specimens would always seek each other out sexually.

And of course she knew that Booth cared about her, as she cared about him.

But love?

Was that really what possessed him to go along with Sweets and Cullen at the beginning of all this? And if he really loved her, why didn't he stand up for instead of allowing this to happen? Did it go beyond simple concern for his partner?

Her mind seemed to be overwhelmed with issues she could scarcely deal with. She needed something rational, and that came in the form of the new set of remains.

Her team gathered on the platform as the body was wheeled in, severely decomposed. Brennan's mind shifted automatically to the task at hand, all other cares forgotten for the time being. She donned a pair of latex gloves and approached the remains.

"Male, early thirties, no immediate apparent cause of death," she stated, peering at the bones.

"They found the body near the location of the first victim?" Hodgins asked.

"About ten meters away, yes," Brennan confirmed.

"Dr. Hodgins," Cam called from the floor, pushing a cart with white buckets on it towards the platform. Hodgins face lit up with anticipation.

"Are those the soil samples?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes they are," Cam said as she brought the cart to a stop near his station, brushing her hands off. "And they are all yours."

"Excellent!" he grinned, practically running off the platform to get to work. Angela gave a small laugh as she watched him.

"I swear, I will never understand why he gets so excited about dirt," she said. "But I love him for it."

When she got no response, she looked over to see Brennan staring at her with a puzzled look on her face.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," Brennan broke out of her thoughts and turned her attention back to the remains. "If you would let one of the grad students know that we need help cleaning another set of remains, I can get you the skull to start working on a sketch."

"Sure," Angela agreed, turning to leave and exchanged a look with Cam as she passed her.

"Any preliminary observations?" Cam asked as she approached Brennan, who was currently bent over on the right side of the body and staring intently at the hip bone.

"I'm not too certain, but does this look like an indentation on the bone here?" Brennan asked as she pointed carefully to the exposed area of bone. Cam joined her and looked at the spot Brennan indicated. She saw what appeared to be very faint indentations of lines on the bone.

"There's definitely something there," Cam agreed.

"I'm going to treat this area myself," Brennan decided, straightening and turning to start preparations for the cleaning process. "I can't risk having those erased during cleaning, they're already too faint."

"Dr. Brennan," Cam called after her. She stopped and faced her boss. "I got a call from the Bureau this morning, just before the body arrived… apparently, Booth received a threat last night."

Brennan felt her chest tighten.

"Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Cam reassured her. "Just a note left for him in his motel room that wasn't too friendly."

Brennan looked over at the unidentified body lying on the metal table and suppressed a shudder, images from the nightmares that had flooded her dreams after his "death" coming to her mind.

"He shouldn't be out there alone," she said firmly, shaking her head.

"He's not," Cam tried to be comforting. "He's got local law enforcement on his side, people looking out for him."

"That might not be good enough," Brennan told her, feeling a sense of urgency build up inside of her. She turned and strode off the platform, her mind made up.

For the second time in less than two weeks Brennan found herself storming into the FBI building, this time with a determination she lacked before. She had not bothered to remove her lab coat before she left the Jeffersonian and it billowed behind her as she walked down the halls. She barely heard Cullen's secretary trying to stop her as she barged into his office and marched straight up to his desk, not even caring that he was in the middle of a meeting.

"You need to send more agents to help Booth," she stated firmly.

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth has adequate help from the officers that are already in Horner," Cullen said after he had regained his composure from the sudden appearance of the Jeffersonian employee, giving an apologetic look to the two men he had been conversing with.

"He was threatened!" Brennan cried.

"I'm well aware of that," Cullen said calmly. "And I feel confident that the situation is under control and does not need anything further than it is being given at the moment."

"I disagree," Brennan argued.

"Unfortunately for you, you are not a Deputy Director of the FBI."

"No I'm not, because if I were I wouldn't have made such a ludicrous decision as removing the best forensic anthropologist in this part of the country from field work. At the very least I should be out there with him to solve this case faster!"

"This moment right here is why you were removed, Dr. Brennan," Cullen snapped, his voice rising. "You can't keep your impulses under control. That's a dangerous trait in the field."

"I'm not dangerous," Brennan said, forcing her voice to remain calm. Why couldn't she make him see that Booth needed help, and he needed her.

"The Bureau begs to differ on that point," Cullen gestured behind her. Brennan turned to see two security officers standing in the doorway, Cullen's secretary peering in behind them. "Now are you going to leave of your own accord? Or are you going to set the process of returning to field work back a month?"

Brennan turned back to face him.

"I might not be an expert at reading people," she told him firmly, "but I'm certain that you're being ridiculous right now."

Before Cullen had a chance to respond, Brennan walked quickly out of his office.

She barely made it back to the Jeffersonian, her vision almost blurry from the anger and injustice she felt as she stormed across the gardens towards the main building, when her cell phone chirped in her pocket.

"Brennan."

"Bones, what are you doing?"

The exasperation in his voice was evident and she could only assume that he had already heard about her outburst.

"Trying to get them to see some reason, Booth."

"Yeah, well, it's not working, you are on thin ice now with Cullen."

"I don't care, Booth! This is not how we work! This case isn't getting solved fast enough, nothing is working the way it should, and you could very well be in imminent danger. I don't like this."

"Bones, I promise you, I am fine. It was probably nothing, just some bent out of shape locals getting off on a stupid prank."

"How can you not take this seriously?" she asked in amazement.

"I am," he insisted. "I have all the law support I need up here, ok? Everything's fine."

"I'm coming up there," she blurted out.

"No, no you are not. You come up here and Cullen will separate us for good."

Brennan stopped in her tracks.

"He can't do that," she said, her voice trembling more than she wanted it to. For a moment, all she heard was silence.

"He can, Bones. And I don't want that to happen. Please… please, just do this for me."

He was begging her. It was breaking her heart, but she was tired of being leashed by an institution that did not understand her work.

"He's wrong, Booth. I don't trust what he's doing. If I come up there, at least I can help you finish this case and end this on my own terms. If Cullen wants to sacrifice the quality of investigation the FBI is capable of, that's his choice."

"Bones," he said, worry lacing his voice. "Don't… please…"

"I have to do what I know is right, Booth."

"Give me time, Bones, give me a few days to get more to work with here," he pleaded. "Just wait it out and let Cullen cool down. You don't have to make this decision."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off before she could utter a word.

"Temperance… please."

That's when she heard it. For the first time in all their years together, she heard the love in his voice, the desperate need. It shook her to her core, scared her, thrilled her all at once. She took a shaking breath.

"Okay… for now."


	15. Chapter 15

"Dr. Brennan. You missed our appointment this morning."

Brennan barely spared a glance at Sweets as he stood at the base of the platform stairs. She was currently focusing an imager on the imprints on the hipbone of the second victim. Angela stood nearby, readying the computer system for a linked in conference with Booth.

"We've had a lot of breakthroughs in the last day, Sweets, my time was more valuable here," Brennan replied nonchalantly.

"And you've had a lot of breakthroughs in our sessions, now is really not to the time to back away from meeting."

"I'm not backing away, I'm prioritizing."

"After what happened with Cullen, I would expect your priority would be to follow the Bureau's protocol."

Brennan stiffened at his words, feeling at her wits end with hearing people tell her that she should be bossed around by this man. Choosing to ignore the comment, she flipped the switch on the imager and locked it into place. She straightened and headed for a nearby cart with the findings of the last day's work, meeting Angela's concerned gaze with a roll of her eyes in Sweets' general direction.

"Dr. Brennan," Sweets began again, more quietly. "You _do_ know he's threatening to remove you permanently. Is now the time to be toeing out of line?"

Snapping the file she was holding shut, Brennan whipped around and stormed to the edge of the platform. For a moment, Sweets feared for his life. With great relief, he watched her come to a firm stop at the top of the stairs, though he would not soon forget the look she fixed him with. He had never seen Brennan so worked up.

"As a matter of fact, I know exactly what Cullen is concocting in that sorry organ he calls a brain. And contrary to popular belief, I am not trying to get myself removed. But I will not lie down and be walked on. I will do my damn job. And after I'm done doing my job and ready to talk to you, I will. So… you can just go wait in my office until I'm done here. Okay?"

To Brennan's surprise, a hint of a smile appeared on Sweets' face. Placing his hands in his pockets, he gave a short nod.

"Okay."

Brennan watched him walk away and towards her office and felt a sense of power and confidence that had been eluding her for days. Tilting her chin up in triumph, she turned back to the center of the platform only to catch Angela's stunned look.

"Bren," she said emphatically. "You didn't tell me Cullen might remove you permanently."

"It's an empty threat, Angela," Brennan said firmly. "I won't let that happen, and neither will Booth."

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

"It's fine," Brennan insisted, grabbing a pair of latex gloves and snapping them on. She smiled up at her friend. "Let's get ready for the call to Booth."

Angela lifted her eyebrows in surprise, but took the few short steps to the monitor without argument. "All right then." With the flip of a switch, Booth's face appeared on the screen.

It was the first time Brennan had seen his face in a week. She felt her heart leap and couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Booth, good to see you got the equipment up and running so quickly!" Angela exclaimed as she stepped into the picture on their end.

"Well, y'know," Booth shrugged in false modesty and gave his patented cocky grin. "Anything I can do to speed up the investigation."

"Wait, I thought you said you got a techie from the local high school to set it up for you last night," Brennan interjected. Booth's face immediately went serious again.

"Potato, potahto, Bones. Whatcha got for me?" he asked, quickly changing the subject. "It's nothing but dead ends up here and I need some good news."

"The second victim is Mitchell Adernos, age thirty-one," Brennan started without missing a beat. She pointed to the hipbone that had been her focus over the last day. "Cause of death was the severing of a major artery along the hipbone as the result of metal grating being driven into the body at a strength great enough to leave an impression on the bone. In addition, the pelvis was fractured and several vertebrae in the spinal cord were dislocated. These injuries are consistent with being hit by a car."

"A car accident?" Booth asked, slightly confused.

"Specifically, one of these models," Angela added, bringing up a screen that displayed some twenty cars. She pointed to the front of one of them. "We used the imager to match the pattern of the indentations. Our victim was hit by a model with this distinct metal grating on the front."

"All right, send me a list of those models," Booth said eagerly.

"On its way," Angela told him, clicking away with the mouse.

"There's more." Brennan and Angela turned to see Cam approaching with a file in her hand. "I just pulled the phone records for our vic. You'll never believe who he was calling almost every day for the last two months – Michelle Roult."

"The first victim?" Booth questioned. "Who was this guy?"

"He was an environmental activist and a leading proponent of sustainable housing," Cam informed them as she looked through the file. "He's been helping to publicize the use of old shipping cartons to create recycled homes."

"I've heard about that," Angela said. "There's a lot of interest in that kind of building."

"So how is he connected to Michelle Roult?" Brennan asked.

"That's what we need to find out," Cam said. "He was extremely careful about not leaving a paper trail to her. Booth, maybe you can dig something up on your end."

"I'm on it."

"Let us know if you find anything," Brennan told him. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "And be careful."

"I will, Bones," he replied with a smile that seemed to be just for her. Cam and Angela exchanged knowing looks. Booth cleared his throat and muttered a quick goodbye before the screen went black.

"We've made excellent progress," Brennan said matter of factly as she removed the gloves from her hands. "Now I just have to get rid of the psychologist in my office."

* * *

_God, she'd looked beautiful_.

Booth knew that of all the things he should be thinking at the moment, that was probably the least helpful, the least useful. He couldn't help it. The way the blue lab coat made her cerulean eyes stand out, the elegant way she moved her hands as she handled the bones on the exam table.

Good Lord, he never in his wildest dreams thought a woman handling human remains would do it for him. How things changed.

Shaking his head and trying to clear his thoughts of all things Brennan, he leaned forward and focused as best he could on the files Angela had sent to him. Scrolling down the file and looking at the models displayed, he couldn't help wondering how much he would have to save from his yearly salary just to buy one the cars that had killed their second victim. He was nearing the end of the list when his acute eyes narrowed on a particular model. A BMW M6, silver, convertible. Booth had seen that car before. At a crime scene, in fact, and the owner was very personally connected with the victims. Hot damn, his Bones was good. She'd just given him enough evidence to warrant the arrest of Michelle Roult's boss. He smiled and snapped the laptop shut.

In ten minutes, Booth was at the sheriff's office and striding up to the desk where Sheridan sat going over paperwork. The older man looked up as he heard Booth approach.

"Agent Booth, what can I do for you?"

"Sheriff, does Jon Jackson stay here when he's overseeing the construction site?"

"You mean that suit from New York?" Sheridan barely concealed the disdain in his voice. Booth nodded. "Sure does. Rents a small house about a mile out of town."

"I think I'd like to go pay him a visit. Can you take me there?"

Sheridan recognized the look in Booth's eyes. He may have only been the sheriff of a small town, but he was still law enforcement and he knew that look. Booth was hot on a trail of evidence. Sheridan stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

"Jackson left town yesterday morning," he told Booth.

"Damn it," Booth swore quietly.

"You got reasonable cause?"

"Yeah," Booth answered, holding up the file with the printout of the car that had run down Mitchell Adernos.

"Then I've got a key. Let's go."

Within minutes, the two men were pulling up to a modest but modern log cabin home, dark except for a winking, yellow porch light coming to life in the last moments of daylight. Booth climbed out of Sheridan's ranger vehicle and followed the sheriff as he headed up the path to the house. The recent summer rains had left all sorts of night creatures in a blissful mood and they were surrounded by a chorus of frogs, crickets, and cicadas just waking up. Booth would have preferred quiet as they entered the home of Jon Jackson.

The cabin was pristine and reflected the tastes of a man in the business of selling homes. The blinds were tightly pulled and Booth retrieved his flashlight from his pocket and flipped it on, his actions followed closely by Sheridan. Booth took in the environment, assessing where his priorities would lie. The front door had opened into a huge main living room, impressive in its décor but lacking in any official appearance. An archway to the back left of the room led to the kitchen and another in the center revealed what appeared to be a library. In the far right corner, a hallway opened up and disappeared around the corner.

Sheridan gestured to the library.

"I'll start looking around in there."

Booth nodded and headed towards the hallway. It was longer than he expected. He counted four doors on the left side of the corridor and was displeased to see that the entire right side was lined with paned windows. Not the best situation for snooping around in someone else's home. The first door revealed on a hall bathroom. The second, however, led him to a home office.

_Bingo_.

It took very little time rummaging through the only file cabinet in the room to come across the right manila envelope hidden in the back. Booth almost chuckled when he opened the file.

"Not too bright when it comes to hiding things, apparently," he muttered. At the bottom of the file was an external hard drive. Booth quickly spotted the laptop that had been left in the room and turned it on, inserting the drive. On the desktop, an icon popped up.

_. Well that's not incriminating at all, stealing a dead guy's hard drive._

Booth double clicked and the screen was flooded with documents, nearly all of them detailing the business expenses of Dream Homes and the company's stock information. It wasn't until he read an email exchange between Jon and Michelle that he understood – Dream Homes had been advertising their use of recycled and eco-friendly material for their construction and had been charging through the nose for the projects, garnering huge stock investments based on their practices, and Michelle had uncovered the truth that Jon had been secretly using logging companies to supply materials and taking the cheap way out. She had been supplying Mitchell with the information to expose the company and bring a lawsuit against them.

He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Brennan. She answered quickly. "Bones, we got 'im – Jon Jackson, Michelle's boss. He's got photos of Michelle and Mitchell meeting and exchanging files, copies of emails, Mitchell's hard drive… looks like Johnny was a bad boy when it came to investors - "

A crash from the front room sent Booth into high alert. He pulled the phone away from his ear and strained to hear any noise following the crash. He was vaguely aware of Brennan calling his name through the receiver. Quietly as he could, he shut his phone off and slipped it back into his pocket and retrieved his gun, making his way cautiously into the hallway. As he made his way back into the main room, he saw Sheridan lying in a heap just outside the library and the front door wide open. His already heightened senses became even more so, his FBI training kicking into overdrive as he tried to see and hear everything at once. A movement in the kitchen caught his eye and he quickly trained his gun on the opening, moving forward slowly. He positioned himself against the wall as he neared the archway, heart pounding. In one quick movement, Booth thrust himself through the doorway, gun raised, and faced an empty kitchen. In the next instant, he felt what must have been a rope flung around his neck and tightened. Time seemed to move in slow motion. He could feel the roughness of the rope grinding against his throat as he stabilized himself to prepare to get a good shot at his attacker's leg, torso, anything, really. As he raised his arm, agonizingly slow in his own mind, he felt something solid connect painfully with the side of his head. Then nothing.


End file.
